Amitiel, Son of Legolas
by feltetteluvtomfelton
Summary: Legolas is returning to Mirkwood after his 13 months away from his Fellowship Quest. His beloved wife has been dead for 12 of those months. Amitiel desperately wants his father to come home, but some of his angst has never truly left. This is the story of the Princeling of Mirkwood and the Prince of Mirkwood.
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing from JRR Tolkein. This is his world and I am only playing in it.

"Vanya sulie, mellon nin," the King of Gondor grasped the Prince of Mirkwood's forearm warrior-fashion as the elf dipped his head in respect.

"I hope to see you soon, Estel," Legolas spoke softly in reflection; he smiled as he soon realized he couldn't recognize his best friend what with his crown and all. He was no longer a mere ranger and no longer the boy that he used to roam with causing mischief and chaos with Elrond's twins. The four of them were a force to be reckoned with...but as with the territory of growing up, things were forever changed. Aragorn was a King and a new husband, and Legolas would resume his duties in Mirkwood with both being the crowned prince and rearing his motherless princeling.

"We will, mellon. I promise. Send King Thranduil and Prince Amitiel my reguards." They unclasped their warrior style grasp only then to pull one another in a brotherly embrace. Sharing in one last smile, Legolas bowed as he then turned on his heel and left Gondor's great throne room and headed to the stables. It would be well over a week's ride on Arod to his father's woodland realm. His beloved Celdanine, he hadn't had time to grieve for her yet, it hadn't occurred to him that she was truly gone. Almost grateful that it hadn't was he, because he knew that he should have faded in grief leaving his son orphaned. It had been a long thirteen months away, twelve of those months Amitiel was abandoned. Although Greenleaf was saddened to say farewell to the Fellowship and most of all his best friend, Estel, no one was more eager to go home to see his offspring. Besides Estel, no one in the Fellowship had known that Legolas was a Prince, lost his beloved wife, and fathered a rambunctious youngling.

As Legolas finished checking Arod's tack and mounted, Faramir came in,

"Just wanted to wish you a safe journey, Legolas. I brought you some extra provisions for your trip." Legolas graciously accepted the warm baked loaf of bread, dozen apples, and quarter pound of cheese as he placed them gently in his saddle bag.

"Thank you for your kindness," the elven prince spoke.

"Safe travel," he inspirited.

"I wish you every happiness with Eowyn." Faramir grinned as he blushed at the comment but nodded a thanks. With that, Legolas gave Arod a little encouragement as he squeezed the animal's ribcage with his inner knees as he trotted out of the stable and once out of the city began to canter West. The elf would have rather have marched into blurred and mindless battle once more than deal with the silence of impending grief he was to feel with the absence of his wife. The sun came up over the ridge at Gondor and warmed his back in a comforting sense, it almost felt as if Celdanine was there with him wrapping her arms around his waste holding on from falling off the horse.

"Melleth nin," he whispered sadly. He violently shook his head as he snapped back to the thundering sound of Arod's hooves and the blasting wind in his face.

(Back in Mirkwood)

The sun's rays streamed through the royal chambers of Mirkwood's fortress as it soon reached the princeling's bed. However the bed was absent of the princeling and was perfectly made. Since his mother's death, Amitiel had sworn off sleeping because that's when the nightmares always found him. Consistently watching his mother get mangled mercilessly by orcs was a reoccurring one. Only did his grandfather know that the elfling had witnessed this violence when he and his mother were taking the air together on that day.

(FLASHBACK)

Amitiel had made it clear he didn't want the guardians following him and his mother, so it was solely them alone. How stupid it all seemed now, that one small action could have saved his mother. How odd was it too that orcs had come without warning into Mirkwood, they hadn't been spotted in the realm for over a century. They had come in a swarm of over fifty, far too many for a youngling and a princess that garnered only a long bladed knife to fight. Amitiel fought hard and felled over fifteen of the orcs with his dual swords that Legolas had given him, but this mattered little in the end. A quite larger orc with leathery skin and eyebrow piercings with a battle scar that went through his forehead through his eye and down his cheek causing that eye to be blind, went behind the princeling and made the motion attempting to stab him through his back. Celdanine had seen this and without a second thought blocked the intended attack on her son with her own body. Amitiel let out a blood curdling scream as he saw his Nana skewered. She floated to the ground as her elfling slid down to the ground next to her and took her hand. Her blood acted like a fountain as it spat everywhere, tears sprung to the elfling's eyes. She would not allow herself to fade until she knew her son was safe, in her last burst of strength she violently kicked her son as he miraculously sprawled through the only clearing that freed him from the encircling band of orcs. He landed on the grass six feet away from the faction of orcs and froze in fear as he stumbled to stand but his legs were so wobbly. His ears pricked as he heard his mother whisper weakly,

"Run ion nin! RUN!" Regrettably he turned to look at his mother one last time, as he watched the orcs finish her...immediately she faded. Knowing it was his mother to give him strength, he felt his legs out from under him with a mind of their own begin to sprint away, leaping over upturned roots and dodging branches. He ran so fast that the smallest of branches he charged through whipped him with such a force to lacerate his cheek. With highly attuned ears, he heard the pack of miserable orcs giving chase to him but this only urged him to run faster. The wind whistled and bit at his ears and eyes as he felt tears falling and flying backwards behind him. Soon he saw the entrance to the fortress which only prompted him to give one last surge of energy as he bolted like a stallion. He saw the faces of the guards as they ran to him seeing him in such distress. His lungs and heart burned like the fires of Mordor, he could barely get his words out but he managed to bite down on his raging fumes of emotion,

"Orcs...attacked my...mother...she faded." All the entrance guards except one stayed followed the signs of orc as they gave chase to flush them out. The one guard that stayed with the princeling held the his gaze with saddened eyes for him as he attempting to put his hand on Amitiel's shoulder.

Truly enraged, Amitiel shoved the guard in angst as he ran like fury into Thranduil's throne room, he tossed the door open with such strength that it slammed into the stone wall with a vibration that echoed throughout the fortress. With a disapproving look, Thranduil watched the elfling come in with such an exasperated bearing with sobs racking at him. He was a tirade, ornate tables and chairs were thrown and demolished into kindling, candelabra's were shoved to the ground as wax spilled everywhere on the ground including on the elfling as it burned his flesh. He screamed bloody murder as it echoed angrily in the throne room. The guards and maidens paused their work as they simply watched this horror unfold. Thranduil stood up not yet understanding the severity of the situation,

"Calm your fury, elfling!" This made Amitiel that much more furious; to prove it, he grabbed his opal and silver circlet of a crown from his head and threw it across the floor in such a violent way that it slide across with such speed that it met the wall in the kiss of death as it shattered into oblivion. Purely shocked, the Elvenking began the descent down from his high throne towards his son's seething elfling. Amitiel still out of breath finally collapsed onto the cold ground with a slam as he ruthlessly began to pound the stone with his fist until he arm was restrained by Thranduil who cupped the elfling's chin as he demanded Amitiel's eyes. Thranduil saw nothing but absolute pain and suffering in this child's azure eyes but the cause of such he knew not. He kneeled on the ground as Amitiel fell helplessly as he buried his head in the king's robes as racking sobs caught him breathless. Thranduil gathered the elfling in his arms as he smoothed out the child's mess of golden hair. About to gently ask what caused the elfling so much pain, Thranduil's mouth opened only to be shut as the guard who had lead the pursuit of the orcs explained in a whisper of all that had occurred. Thranduil was absolutely speechless and only held the trembling and sobbing elfling tighter to his chest. Nothing could rectify the situation and he knew this only too well. He kissed the elfling as he whispered comforting words in Sindarin, but this healing would take many moons. The Elvenking whispered back to the guard to regrettably send word to Legolas who had just left Imladris on his quest with the Fellowship. He whispered as softly as he could but he knew the elfling heard as his ears perked at the mention of this which only made the fit worse. Thranduil lowered his head as he returned to speaking to his grandchild in Sindarin as he continued to gently stroke his hair. The pain that the King felt was palpable, but Amitiel's grief was immeasurable. It became worse when he realized that not only was his son's child's sobbing uncontrolled, the agony rendered him to begin to fade before his very eyes. Thranduil worked quickly as he placed Amitiel's forehead on his own and whispered,

"Stay grounded, do not leave. I will not allow you to, I need you still. Your Adar needs you. You are not leaving, I demand it." Closing his eyes, Thranduil concentrated as he transferred a large portion of his energy into the elfling. When the exchange was over, the King glimpsed at the elfling who was solid once more but with eyes closed as last tears streamed from them, but he was asleep. Thranduil placed his slender hand on his face as he too began to cry, the weight of the crown became too much as he gently removed it and placed it on the ground. He ran his fingers through his hair as he then cradled the sleeping and deeply tortured elfling. When Thranduil had given some of his energy, he had the ability to see what Amitiel had seen and experienced, no one else knew how grotesque the scene actually was. It deeply hurt him that his only daughter-in-law, whom he considered a true daughter, was slain in such savagery and that his grandchild's youthful innocence was defiled in such an equal amount of savagery. Devastated he too was that his son suffered the same fate he had, loosing his one mate so soon in life and now having to raise a motherless child.

(BACK IN MIRKWOOD)

It had been a whole year since his mother's passing, and although Amitiel faired far better this day than that hellish day a year ago, he was healing slowly. He refused to wear a circlet crown, refused to adorn any braids as he couldn't care any less, refused to play as he once did although he still greatly relied on his best friend Uriel, refused sleep and many meals, and hadn't gone to his mother's remembrance funeral. There was no body to give back to nature, the most common act of any Elven funeral. At times he had wished he had faded that day, to see his mother once again, but then he remembered his grandfather's words.

After another night vacant of sleep, the elfling closed his book as he stood up from his velvet chaise, and got dressed in normal fashion. He stared at himself in the mirror, his collarbone protruded more visually and his cheeks were fairly hallowed and contoured. He had lost some weight, but what truly disturbed him was that he appeared as a shadow of his former self. Still seeing the light in himself, but only slightly as it on a daily basis waxed and waned depending how he was feeling. The scar from the branch that sliced his cheek was still visible, he had the option of ridding it from his face but chose instead to keep it as a reminder.

Leaving the mirror he grabbed his quiver of arrows and longbow and hurried out of his chambers passing by his nurse maiden Yrren,

"My Princeling, let me brush out your hair before you..." he pretended not to hear as he buckled his quiver around his torso and instead scampered down the corridor and began descending the stairs four at a time as he dodged many attending nurses, maids and guards who had known the mere princeling since his birth. He made his way to the dining hall, knowing his King would already be awake to greet him. As he entered the grand room with the luxurious wooden table and monstrous fireplace with a opulent oak mantle, Thranduil looked up from his tea and smiled at the child,

"Up early again? What does the fine Princeling have planned for today?"

"Target practice with Uriel. Any word from Adar?" Every morning the Elvenking dreaded this ritual with every fiber of his being, there had been no word from Legolas since Rivendell. No word about the war in general, it was unknown whether or not it was still happening or if they had lost or won. Thranduil bit his lip as he shook his head as it rendered the poor elfling another fracture on his heart that was visible to the Elvenking. Unbeknownst to his grandfather, Amitiel had for some reason a good feeling about asking that question today, and if the answer was no than he decided to believe his father to be dead. After more than a year and no word, it was impossible to keep hope so for Amitiel there wasn't any and chilling enough he accepted this.

Only a scarce few knew, but Amitiel's Adar had the elven gift of connection. He had the power to visit his son in his dreams, and generally expel a comforting sensation to his son whether asleep or not. This connection had been severed for a year, and Amitiel interpreted it that Legolas was either dead or simply didn't try anymore. More than anything, Amitiel had hoped that a few days after his Nana's death, Legolas after receiving word would either had came home immediately or had visited him in his dreams or just had done something to comfort him. But nothing ever came, and never had the young princeling needed his Adar more in the past year when he of course was absent.

Thranduil was just as worried about the silence from his son as Amitiel. Although it could be expected that word would be nonexistent, Amitiel had expressed to him about the abandoned connection that at one time or another was so strong. The one truth that Thranduil had kept from his grandson was that no one except obviously Estel and Elrond had known about his true identity. He left for the Fellowship with almost no one knowing he was crowned prince of Mirkwood. If dead from battle, he might not had been recognized as anyone special and this could be the cause of the dead air. He looked up into his grandson's eyes, they were no longer that immaculate azure color that mimicked Legolas', they had become quite cloudy and gray that could be fiery with emotion at any moment. Wanting so badly but not able to help his grandson, Thranduil too was beginning to loose hope that he would ever see that rambunctious and carefree elfling again. That once so lively part of him faded that day when he was cradled in the King's arms.

Amitiel winced a forced smile at Thranduil, "Well, I'd better go find Uriel and..."

"Not without breakfast, I won't argue. Come and sit." Thranduil interrupted nonchalantly as he returned to his tea. Rolling his eyes, Amitiel sat at arm's length from his jailer yet greatest support in past months. He reached for two apples, a slice of lembas bread and some tea as he and his grandfather ate in companionable silence for a good long while.

Without warning, one of Thranduil's servants came in the hall as he bowed before the king and the young princeling,

"My Lord, my Princeling, I apologize for the disturbance, but some of the Mirkwood warriors have come back from Gondor and are waiting in the throne room-" Amitiel didn't wait for the servant to finish but rather bolted from his seat and sprinted down the corridor towards the throne room praying in his head so desperately to find his father. Perhaps there was yet still hope.

"Amitiel! Wait!" Thranduil called out exasperated and fearful of the disappointment his grandson would find. Thranduil whipped his head towards the servant giving a murderous look and imagined strangling him until he turned blue and purple. The servant only now realizing his error began fervently apologizing, but Thranduil would hear none of it as he strutted after the Princeling in the throne room.

"Adar!" The single word echoed brokenly throughout the fortress and was enough for Thranduil to almost fall to his knees. He held on to his chest as he had to ease himself on a wall for balance; he couldn't stand his grandson to experience yet another heartbreak.

Amitiel observed everyone of the two hundred warriors that had come back as they all bowed to him as he walked in through the doorway. Throngs of family flooded in as Amitiel witnessed many elflings being embraced by their Adars and many wives and mothers too. Oddly enough all two hundred had come back, but equipped with the Prince that made two hundred and one. Of course, Legolas was the only one absent. The princeling swallowed hard as he looked up to one of the guards who was a friend of his father's,

"Where is he?" He almost demanded this. The warrior looked sadly down on the elfling,

"We traveled with him to Rivendell, then he left with the fellowship. We haven't laid eyes on him since then, Princeling." Amitiel gripped his bow as he left the throne room soundlessly and went out the back from the cellar towards the target range,

"I've had enough." He muttered as the sun practically blinded him. Inhaling deeply, Amitiel took in the familiar scents of pine, balsam, the baking of Lembas bread, and river water. He heard birds chirping and far away elk that were rutting with a continuous sound of antlers clacking against one another.

Walking down the pathway his came upon the targeting range and found a familiar face sitting patiently with his bow,

"Mellon nin!" Uriel called out to his best friend. An authentic smile played on the Princeling's lips at the greeting,

"Mae govannan," Amitiel approached as he grasped Uriel's arm in the warrior style, "let's begin."

It had been a great distraction for the Princeling as Uriel had asked that his friend help him practice with shooting the past few months. The skills of Legolas and his offspring with the bow were legendary and unparallel. In fact, the only competition in shooting that Amitiel could find was when he and his father would gamble a few coins when they went at it. The trials had many different settings of difficulties and skill sets like distance, accuracy, moving targets, shooting while at a canter mounted on a horse and even blindfolded.

"Pull it back like I showed you and let it fly," Amitiel ordered as Uriel took the bow as he notched an arrow and closed one eye as he let it loose as it pathetically missed the target by a good ten feet.

"No, hold the position and let me show you." Uriel notched another arrow as he appeared to shoot but held on to the tail of the arrow to show his friend.

"Keep both eyes open, lower your arm so that it runs aligned to your arrow, pull the tail of the arrow to your cheek. But most of all mellon nin, relax. When you tense up, the arrow doesn't trust it's master. Command it, be confident." Uriel followed the directions flawlessly as he took a deep breath and released the arrow as it glided swiftly in the air and plummeted into the target perfectly with a satisfying "fwop" of noise. Not able to contain his happiness, Uriel released a gasp of surprise as he smiled uncontrollably. Amitiel grinned at his friend,

"A superb shot."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for taking the time t read this. Please take the time to write a review and give me some feedback.

As always I own nothing from JRR Tolkein, this is his world and I just let my mind wander in it from time to time.

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

Arod tossed his head as Legolas pulled back at the reins of the white stallion; the Prince dismounted his stead as he stretched his legs and kept them from cramping. He pushed his hands into his lower back as he stretched and pulled his back rearwards feeling it crack and pop in a harmonious fashion. Eyeing his horse, Arod began demolishing some of the tall grass that grew right next to the river. Legolas soon followed suit as he kneeled by the creek and cupped some water as he cooled his dried throat. He then stood as he retrieved two apples from his saddlebag, biting heartily into one as he handed Arod the other as the horse inhaled it in two bites. Sitting on a rock watching the river babble over the rocks, the elf gnawed the apple to the core, and then handed the core to Arod who once more finished it with ease. As he bowed his head down to rub his eyes, he noticed that one of his braids was loose and messy. Fingering through his golden hair he undid the tether and started braiding tightly once more as he wove it to the side of his head to keep it out of his face.

Without warning there came a rustling and thundering sound of hooves stamping the ground; Arod released a whinny but not a distressed one and rather a cheerful one at that. Legolas stood up in alarm as he drew his bow and notched an arrow as he pulled it back to his cheek and keeping his arm parallel to the arrow and both eyes open. Taking a moment of reflection, when he realized he gave his son the same advice not too long ago...at least in Elven terms. Promptly he put his arrow back in his quiver and lowered his bow when he saw that the "intruders" were indeed not. Rohirrim riders rumbled towards the river on their horses with their helmets clad with wispy horse hair on the crowns of their heads. Eomer, the new King of Rohan after Theoden's death, spotted the elf and trotted towards him. If he couldn't recognize the rider, he could almost always recognize Arod. Legolas swept out his hand from his chest in respect,

"Going home to your throne, my King?" Eomer laughed as he got down from his horse as he copied the odd elven custom of greeting as well.

"So it would seem, what about you? Traveling alone?" Legolas nodded,

"I would've gone home with the Mirkwood warriors, but I intended to stay for Estel's wedding and coronation."

"Estel?" Eomer asked as he raised his eyebrows.

"Aragorn," Legolas corrected.

"Is there a story that accompanies the nickname?"

"Unfortunately, it's one that would take too long to tell without a drink in my hand." Legolas smiled.

"Well we might have some time for that. Obviously we are going back to Rohan which is directly on the way to your Woodland Realms. We're only three days away, why don't you ride with us? There's always safety in numbers. We'd be happy to have a legendary archer amongst us." Eomer reasoned with the elf. Legolas pondered this, he truly needed to get home as fast as Arod could go; he desperately wanted to be with his elfling especially since his connection with him had been dissociated for so long. The reasoning for it, he knew not. He tried every time when he fell asleep to find the elfling except for the first month after his Celdanine had faded, his sadness wouldn't allow it. Once he had healed slightly, he tried fervently to find his son in his dreams but...he was blocked and nothing he tried could rectify this. Lost in thought, he was snapped back to the situation as Eomer began laughing,

"Master elf, we men might smell and are rougher around the edges, but surely you could stand for if nothing else some extra protection."

"No, I apologize. I was drifting in thought, but yes I'd like very much to travel with the great Rohirrim soldiers. Much gratitude to you," Legolas had a curved lip of a smile.

"Rohirrim riders! We rest for another ten minutes! Water the horses and get ready to go!" Eomer called out the order as the Rohirrim gave out a battle cry. Turning to the elf,

"We'll be in Rohan for a drink soon enough." Legolas nodded as Eomer too went to the river for a drink. With an unexpected nose, Arod began nuzzling Legolas' shoulder as the elf turned to acknowledge his friend. Legolas at times felt that with everything Arod and him had been through, Arod truly understood his master. He always nuzzled Legolas when he knew he needed it.

"Thank you, mellon nin," Legolas rubbed Arod's forehead, "you will like my son. He'll beg me to ride you when we return home. But don't worry, first he will over feed you and spoil you rotten." Arod appeared to understand as he gave out another joyous whinny.

Eomer was true in his order, as ten exact minutes went by and all Rohirrim were on their horses ready to ride. Legolas mounted Arod as he and Eomer cantered in the front leading the company knowing well enough that they wouldn't stop until nightfall. He was just glad that Arod was a Rohirrim trained horse, any other horse couldn't possibly keep up and have the same endurance.

(BACK IN MIRKWOOD)

It was dusk now; the lanterns in the trees and light from the fortress chased away most of the darkness; the sharp crescent of the moon also added the slightest amount of blue light. Quite the crowd had attended, it was an honest to Valar thrill to watch the mere Princeling with such bowmanship. Amitiel was almost embarrassed by how many whom had made themselves present, and pretended to just not notice them. Uriel wouldn't dare pick up his bow in such a crowd as this, especially going up against his friend. The Princeling took his last arrow from his quiver as he intended to shoot the furthest target up and concealed in the oak tree. He notched it, at this point second nature taking one moment of agile aim and then released. If one had blinked at this moment, they would have seen and wondered how the Princeling had his arrow with him one second and how did it end up 1,000 yards away in the most challenging target. The crowd clapped and cheered but this only caused Amitiel to blush; he never shot for a show, he shot because he wanted to and nothing more. Trying to remind himself that he should handle this diplomatically and not like the elfling he was, he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

Uriel stood up as he playfully punched his friend in the arm, which was slightly sore due to shooting for almost twelve hours. Amitiel retaliated and punched back,

"What was that even for?"

"To remind you that I can still outrun you!" Uriel laughed as he sprinted away as the Princeling turned and exited the "stage" and began running nimbly towards the fortress after Uriel. It was no use, after ruthlessly beating Uriel, Amitiel was the first to touch the door and the obvious winner.

"It's alright, I let you win because you are the Princeling." Amitiel rolled his eyes while Uriel laughed,

"Oh sure, you absolutely did. That would explain the decades of me beating you, thank you for only telling me now." Amitiel said considerately as he opened the door and they headed inside.

Amitiel looked up at the antler and intricate wood ridden throne not finding Thranduil in sight, but his crown resting on his grand cushion. The two friends made their way towards it, as the corridor to the dining hall was right behind it. Simply striding past it, Amitiel pricked up his ears not hearing Uriel behind him as he usually was and turned around to find his friend stopped and staring up at the royal chair and the elaborate crown that radiated despite there being no jewels to make it so. Amitiel raised his eyebrows and backtracked towards Uriel,

"What are you looking at, mellon? Usually your stomach speaks louder than your curiosity." It appeared that Uriel hadn't heard him,

"Have you ever thought about it?" Amitiel cocked his head a little sideways at the question and furrowed his eyebrows,

"About what?" Uriel grinned,

"About what," he muttered, "about being a king one day, you fool!" This only caused Amitiel to roll his eyes once more,

"Never," he answered honestly, "not once."

"How?" Uriel demanded, "how could you not? You've seen your grandfather on the throne all the days of your life. How could you not have ever thought about it?!"

"The two," Amitiel paused thinking about his father possibly dead already making it just one, "that would have to die, fade and go to Valinor for me to take the throne are my direct kin. I could never in my life think about that, about loosing them...and what I get a rotten chair in the deal? Great, just great." Uriel took in his words and softened his gaze,

"I'm sorry, mellon nin. I wasn't thinking." Amitiel shook his head,

"There's nothing to apologize for, I swear it." Uriel took another survey of the magnificent throne,

"Have you ever sat up there?"

"When I was decades younger in King Thranduil's lap if that counts, but no one is supposed to directly sit upon it when you are not King." Uriel opened his mouth to ask one thing more but Amitiel got the idea,

"No, I've never worn the crown and I never will. Even when the day comes when I might be king, I do not intend to wear it." Amitiel laughed a little, "Believe me, King Thranduil can equally command and dictate with or without his crown, I would know."

"Good, well here's me without it. Come to dinner it's getting cold." Amitiel and Uriel both startled when they whipped around seeing Thranduil with an inkling of a smile playing on his lips at seeing the surprised elflings but his eyes were telling he was dead serious as he glided past the them and resided in the dining hall.

"Master Uriel, you are more than welcome to join us." Thranduil offered. Uriel nodded as he and Amitiel followed their King.

"How did he do that? Especially you, how did you not hear him behind us when you can hear a running river ten miles away?" Uriel whispered so Thranduil couldn't hear.

"Magic of course, that's the only logical explanation." Of course the King responded delighting in spooking the youngling. Amitiel was tongue in cheek as he spoke solely in Sindarin, a dying dialect that only the kin of Thranduil could understand,

"He's Thranduil, son of Oropher. His craftiness is unprecedented." His grandfather didn't physically acknowledge the claim but did reply dryly,

"The truth has been revealed, then. Since when has ever such flattery been bestowed by a stubborn elfling?" Amitiel shook his head playfully at his wily King as Uriel looked at him confused and bringing the conversation back to the Silvan dialect,

"What did you both say?" This simply caused both grandfather and grandchild to chortle.

During the dinner, Thranduil took the time to assess the friendship between the two elflings, why it was no different than the brotherhood that Estel and Legolas shared. Although he would never admit to it, Thranduil was immeasurably grateful to Uriel for giving back even for only a moment the grandson he had once known. Uriel made Amitiel laugh and smile genuinely; they were inseparable. He showed Amitiel how to be light-hearted once more and not dwell on anything for too long. Uriel was a delightful member of the dinner table and to the house of Thranduil; not only that but he was the only one who could openly attack the Princeling with play punches whilst others wouldn't live long enough to bestow another blow.

After the meal, Amitiel bid farewell to Uriel and followed his grandfather into his imperial study. This was more so in the private chambers where the royal elven family lived. Scrolls and books inhabited all four walls of the room as a great tapestry of the royal family laid above the fireplace, but that was a remembrance of happier times as Celdanine was too in it. The princeling peered at his King's long sword that hung on the wall readily should he need it; legends said he became one with the blade when it was in use. He was never injured in battle and supposedly only Thranduil could pick it up and wield it as it was made perfectly for him. Shutting the door behind him, Amitiel sat next to the fire by Thranduil as he poured both of them a glass of wine. The Elvenking had already half the goblet empty before he had even handed the other glass to Amitiel. Everyone knew that Thranduil loved his wines and on the rare occasion something with an even higher content of alcohol. He never got drunk though, his tolerance as were his sword skills was something of legend too. Thranduil took a moment to take in his grandson as the fire's embers danced in his eyes. Although a Princeling of attitude and will, the woodland greens and browns that he wore with no braids and no circlet proved otherwise. His sun bleached hair although at times untidy was straight as an arrow and his blue-gray eyes could pierce like one. He had the almost exact build of his father, lithe yet strong of strength and discipline. Thranduil had to constantly remind himself that Amitiel was still but an elfing, but his baring...he carried far too much burden.

The King switched back to the present, realizing that Amitiel had said something but hadn't caught it,

"I apologize, mani ume lle quena?"

"This is a nice red," Amitiel said once more commenting on the wine, "but I could have of course suspected this. Your pallet for such beverages is unfathomable."

"It's about time someone saw this," Thranduil agreed wholeheartedly. "I heard from Yrren of the large crowd that came to see you and Uriel shoot. It seems even the guards were incredibly impressed. But of course I too could expect this." Amitiel gulped,

"I hate being watched...you and I would know that more than anyone." Thranduil gave a good hard look at Amitiel,

"You must and I mean MUST release this; I see it eating at you everyday. How could anyone have known that orcs would come this far inland when it hasn't occurred since days of Erebor and all that Dwarf nonsense."

"I ask myself everyday if it was intended, or was it just the senseless slaughter of the first she-elf they saw with her elfling. Wearing that damned circlet...was that what did it? They wanted to hurt you and the Prince?" Amitiel began to ramble.

"Dina (Silence)," Thranduil hissed as he would hear no more of the nonsense that was coming out of his grandson's mouth. Amitiel obeyed as he finished his goblet as Thranduil refilled it promptly.

"It was senseless, elfling. Orcs do not have the mindset to think ahead like that; they feed on fear, heartache, and brutality. Mind you, they are the force that Sauron controlled. Although it was senseless, your mother's death was not in vain because you are still here. Please...you mustn't blame yourself any longer." Amitiel cleared his throat,

"I ask we no longer talk of this; we will forever not be able to agree."

Thranduil took a deep breath, reminded that in this study he was not a King but a grandfather, and this youngling had enough routine fighting in off his poisoned conscious. Soon Thranduil nodded,

"As you wish, I do have somewhat of hopeful news for you," the King began as Amitiel held his gaze, "the warriors told me that the war is over. All the good races of Middle Earth have prevailed. The one ring of power has been destroyed, Sauron is gone forever. The tower that held his eye collapsed whilst Mount Doom erupted, and with it ending and swallowing many lives of orcs."

"Many? Not all?" The princeling interjected.

"The horde is gone, but some scattered back into the Misty Mountains. That's not a threat, child. The war is newly over and that's what matters."

"Thank the Valar," Amitiel agreed but had secretly wished the entire race of orc had been exterminated in the most painful manner, "I suspect much feasting soon to come?" Thanduil nodded,

"Naturally, youngling. But there's one more piece I must tell you, but please for the love of the Valar do not get your hopes up."

"I haven't the hope to give up anymore," Amitiel assured pessimistically and sarcastically like no one could believe as he took another swig of wine.

"Charming," Thranduil said coolly, "the warriors also told me that Estel did marry and had his coronation only a few days ago."

"To Lady Arwen?" The Princeling asked as Thranduil nodded,

"At these ceremonies, rumor has spread that a single elf of Mirkwood attended and appeared extremely close to the newly crowned King. He felled an Oliphant with nothing but his bow and arrows. I would like to think it was Legolas." Amitiel took this information in, yes it was believable that his father could kill an Oliphant, and he knew that only his father could be capable of this with just a bow. Although this was fairly probable evidence, Amitiel physically was incapacitated to hope anymore. He stayed silent as he watched his grandfather drinking more of his wine. Amitiel stood up as he stretched by pushing his hands into his lower back as he leaned backwards as he heard the symphony of cracks and pops.

"Well," he started, "I am very tired, it must be the wine. Tenna' tul're san'(Until tomorrow then)." Thranduil gave a dip of his head,

"Quel kaima, (Sleep well) Amitiel." The Princeling bowed as he left the King's study and shut the door behind him. The fortress was extremely dark and extremely quiet except for the almost soundless noise coming from Amitiel's footing as he ascended the stairs towards his chambers.

He tiredly entered his room and closed the door as he unbuckled his quiver and put down his bow on his bureau. Unlacing his boots he kicked them off as they flew to different corners of the rooms. Yrren had left a pitcher of water and basin with a towel to wash his face. That woman...although he at times found her overly doting and at times a pain in his neck, it was the small things she did for him on a daily basis that almost made it feel like his mother wasn't truly gone. He took the pitcher of water and poured it in the basin as he washed his face making him feel rejuvenated but more tired at the same time. Drying himself off he went out on his balcony and looked up at the stars, for elves adored the light of them and Amitiel was no exception. He closed his eyes as he simply heard nature, the waterfall pounding the rocks below, the sound of an owl hooting and crickets chirping. Residing back inside he placed another log in the fire as it spit embers in a spasm of blue fire then got on his chaise as he opened his book. Another long, sleepless night was ahead of him.

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

"We will rest here for the night," Eomer commanded as all the Rohirrim dismounted. It had been a long day of riding but due to the nature of horses running together, and shortcuts that Eomer had purely known on instinct. They would be nearing Rohan by tomorrow, a whole day's travel was cut out, one day less for Legolas' journey home. He dismounted Arod as the tired horse went to the creek for some much needed water. As the horse drank what seemed like gallons, Legolas gently took off all the tack showing a pure snow white horse underneath all the equipment. Placing the saddle and bridle on a nearby boulder, he rummaged through the saddle bag and broke off a piece of bread and cheese and sat atop the boulder to eat. He watched in amazement how swiftly and easily the Rohirrim set up camp as what seemed like a hundred tents rise up as soldiers collected kindling on the ground for fires. Eomer approached the elf,

"We have a spare tent if you'd care for one."

"Much thanks but I'll be fine under the stars tonight, there's no sign of rain." Eomer nodded,

"Well good night then, Master Elf." Legolas smiled and nodded back as Eomer went back to encourage the tents be put up in a better way. After finishing his meager dinner, the elf slid down the rock onto the cool grass and rolled his cloak into a pillow-like shape and laid down on the ground on his back. Arod came over wondering what his master was doing and prompted him to be sniffed to make sure all was well. The Prince looked at the horse as he rubbed the bridge of his long nose. Once realizing his master was alright, Arod began eating vigorously the grass around Legolas.

"Just please don't step on me, ok?" Legolas pleaded as his eyes fluttered looking up at the stars as a memory of Amitiel came to mind.

(FLASHBACK)

It had been the celebration of the winter solstice, Thranduil like always threw a lavish affair as all of Mirkwood celebrated. High elves of Lothlorien and Imladris knew the best place to go for a good solstice party was Mirkwood, as dancing, music, and feasting would last for a week straight. Torch light, lanterns and fires warmed everyone on the outside terrace under the night sky. On one of the nights after being the required diplomat he was meant to be, Legolas went in search of his mischievous elfling. Expecting to find him at the very least on the terrace, the Prince was discouraged as there was no sign of him. Seeing Celdanine up ahead, she gave a glowing smile to her husband as he approached her, taking her soft, and porcelain hands in his,

"How strange to see you here," he joked. Her sapphire eyes flickered,

"How amusing it is to see you thinking you are so clever." He pouted,

"I am quite funny I must say."

"Of course, melleth. Have you seen our beloved ion?" She asked a tad bit more serious as mothers often do when not knowing where their younglings are. About to answer, Legolas stopped as he took a gander over her shoulder and saw a familiar blonde elfling climbing up the inside of the inner wall around the terrace. He pulled himself up the wall as he began climbing up into the tower with such immeasurable speed for a mere elfling. Celdanine turned her head in an attempt to look at whatever Legolas was staring at,

"What is it?" She asked. Not wanting to spoil her mood by worrying about the Princeling falling and cracking his head, Legolas simply said as he began striding after the elfling,

"I'll be right back with him." She furrowed her eyebrows as she rolled her eyes in inevitable worry,

"He climbed something he shouldn't have didn't he?" Legolas pretended not to hear her as he bolted up taking the stairs up to the inner wall and then taking yet another set as he got up into the tower. His eyes were going many different directions looking for signs of his son,

"Amitiel," he asked aloud with no answer. Thoughts began racing in his head that the elfling had fallen and hurt himself. About to go out on the balcony, the Prince was incredibly startled as the elfling popped his head down as he hung upside down from the roof of the tower.

"I'm here Ada," he reasoned with a smile, "I can also do it with no hands too. Watch." Before the Princeling could show this skill, Legolas took hold of his son in his arms,

"I'm sure you can." Legolas propped the elfling on his hip, "You know your mother doesn't like you climbing so high, what was wrong with the stairs? Were they broken?" He quipped as the elfling giggled. At least someone appreciated his terrible jokes, Legolas thought.

"Climb only trees, please. Why are you up here anyway, ion nin?" Legolas asked as he tucked a stray braid behind the elfling's pointed ear.

"I couldn't see the stars from down there because of the fires." Amitiel reasoned as he looked up at the stars to prove his point as Legolas too looked up as they appeared like strands of Mithril scattered across the sky. He could see the elfling's point as it seemed reasonable enough.

"They are beautiful aren't they?" Legolas asked as he noticed the sky was bruised with colors of purple, black and blue.

"Don't you think it's amazing, Ada, that no matter where someone is they see the same sky as everyone else? For all we know, there is an Ada out there somewhere with his elfling looking up at the same sky, stars and moon. It's...I don't know...comforting." Legolas was amazed that this deep of a thought had come from the same elfling that still wasn't able to lace his boots, much less put the right boot on the right foot. The prince kissed the elfling's forehead and whispered,

"It is, and no matter where you are, you can always find comfort that I will always be under the same sky." The Princeling found joy and reassurance in that statement and requested,

"Is that a promise?"

"It can be. Would you like it to be so?" Legolas asked his elfling as he nodded,

"Then I give you my solemn oath and promise." Amitiel wrapped his arms around his Ada's neck as the Prince smoothed out his youngling's sun kissed hair and began to descend the stairs with the elfling still on his hip.

"Let's go find your mother."

Legolas took one last look of the same sky he knew his Princeling was under whispering,

"I kept my promise. Good night, ion nin." With that the Prince's eyes fluttered until finally they shut as his mind began to wander the dream world. He intended to try to find his son another time using his gift of connection, but like always...Amitiel was no where.


	3. Chapter 3

Another installment, it's a short one but I felt this was a good stopping point for this chapter as there is still quite a bit to come. Thank you all so much for reading and please please please leave a review!

As always, JRR Tolkein owns everything and I barely own a bare pair of shoes...

(BACK IN MIRKWOOD)

"Stand still or I'll stick you with my needle, Princeling!" Demanded Yrren as she kneeled in front of the Princeling sewing him into his formal silver tunic with a golden laurel stitched pattern. The tunic was long sleeved with elaborate buttons of mithril, it demanded attention which was something that at this point Amitiel was prophesized to loathe. Yrren observed sadly how much material she'd have to take out of the magnificent tunic as a result of the weight loss.

"I don't understand why clothing matters so much...especially for a night like this. It's feasting, it's about getting drunk and celebrating the end of the war. Why does this pompous outfit matter for a party such as this?" Amitiel asked.

"You know High Elves, they dress to perfection. Tonight and I suspect the rest of this week, elves of Lothlorien and Imladris will of course come to Mirkwood." Yrren tried to reason but the Princeling only found more fault in this statement,

"Exactly, they are coming to the Woodland Realms. Such tunics as these are not worn when drawing an arrow or climbing a tree. I'm a savage Princeling of the wood, not a pretentious, "wise", riddle-speaking high elf and I believe I should dress as such." He adored arguing with Yrren, it was entirely amusing to watch her with disapproving eyes but a glowing smile on her face that she tried to conceal. She was never a good disciplinarian, but she was the most important woman in the young Princeling's life and only second to his mother had she been alive.

"But my word aren't you handsome when you adorn such lovely clothes. I only wish you'd let me braid your hair." Amitiel offered a sarcastic pout as he flipped his hair over and flipped it back as it was an apparent mess just to spite his nurse maid,

"I don't know, I am quite fond of the _I just rolled out of bed _look, because I just did. It's eight o' clock, my lady." Yrren rolled her eyes as she purposely struck the Princeling in the leg with her pin as he jumped a foot in the air.

"How mature!" He protested, "Are we done yet?"

"You are by far one of the most impatient elflings I've ever met. Yes I'm done, but" Yrren didn't get the chance to finish because in a flash Amitiel had extracted the tunic like it was on fire. He sighed in relief,

"Thank the Valar that's over." Grabbing his usual willow green tunic, he tossed it over his head.

"Not quite, you have to try on the boots as well." Amitiel took one peek of the shoes and pretended to gag. There was nothing particularly wrong about the boots, they were just new and shiny and weren't broken in for comfort as the Princeling would have preferred.

"Just because you have no taste in style doesn't mean you should dislike them." Amitiel blew a handful of hair out of his face, his sentiment showing he truly didn't care about how stylish or unstylish he was. A Princeling or not, it was just a standard fact that one only needed one pair of boots until the soles were worn through completely.

Uriel opened the door to his friend's room almost in a hurriedly way but disappointment was apparent on his face,

"Can't believe I missed it, I wanted to see you all royal-like in your fancy little clothes." Amitiel glared at Uriel,

"What are you wearing tonight out of curiosity?" Uriel looked down at his usual green and brown tunic and leggings, the almost exact same as the Princeling wore.

"I mean...I was just going to wear this. Not acceptable?"

"No it's absolutely suitable," the Princeling whipped his head at Yrren, "see? What's the matter with what he's wearing? He's not wearing a pompous butterfly costume."

"With respect Master Uriel, he is not a Princeling. All royals wear butterfly costumes to parties, it is the way of the world." She was done trying to reason with the headstrong elfling, and although she wouldn't admit it she took great joy in equating the princeling to a butterfly.

"Fine, but I'm not trying on the boots right now. I'm leaving." The Princeling mandated as he was about to follow Uriel out the door and into the corridor,

"What if they do not fit?" Yrren asked but uncaringly because she already knew the impending answer.

"I'll wear them anyways." He stated as he began running down the corridor after Uriel who was already all the down the stairs.

"I'll have these alterations done by six. Do not be late, knowing you you'll need a bath too!" She yelled after him as the Princeling groaned at the thought of a bath, it stripped the smell of nature from his skin.

Amitiel and Uriel daringly swarmed the kitchen as cooks were frantically baking desserts for the feasting tonight. Spinning in spiral movements to avoid the ladies, the Princeling snatched a berry tart the size of his hand as he was scolded and chased out of the kitchen. He looked behind him as he saw Uriel empty handed, the cooks had caught him before he had had the chance to steal any morsel. Amitiel smiled,

"It's ok, mellon. We can share." Turning on his heel, the Princeling sprinted with Uriel behind him as they went to the cellar and out the back of the fortress so not to be seen or watched. They ran down the path that led to the targeting range but today they felt more audacious. Coming across a fallen tree that was edged into a forked tree, Amitiel took this as a great way to get up into the canopy so he did just that as Uriel carefully followed suit. The Princeling was in his element, it was thrilling to be up so high and trusting himself and his footing.

Although Uriel wasn't as sure of footing, he was more than happy to do something with Amitiel that normally he would've done with Legolas. Even if it made the void just slightly smaller and not as vast, Uriel was willing to do whatever it took to make it just so. As always Amitiel closed his eyes as his ears pricked to the sound of incoming footsteps of hundreds. They were "noiseless" footsteps, the obvious clue that elves were traveling in a large group.

"So they are already arriving to break out the wine, then." Amitiel spoke as he opened his eyes with Uriel staring at him blankly,

"Are you going to elaborate or should I just nod and pretend I understand even though you are speaking in Sindarin and obviously hear something that I cannot?" Amitiel hadn't even realized, sometimes that just happened,

"Amin hiraetha," the Princeling apologized as he could understand the frustration of him switching dialects without warning, "what I mean is that the high elves are closer than we think. Specifically I hear the twins..." Amitiel looked at Uriel who had already got the idea with a devilish look in his eyes,

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Amitiel caught himself grinning,

"I hope so." The Princeling was absolutely shocked that any of this was coming out of his mouth. For the first time in a year...he felt like pulling a prank. Something that months of grieving would never let him do; thank the Valar for Uriel, maybe after all he was truly getting better. Uriel was just as surprised but decided to take this opportunity for all it was worth.

"Alright, I'm all in for it. But first hand me some of that berry tart."

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

His eyes must've deceived him because Legolas simply refused to believe that they had already made it into Rohan. The grand kingdom that lay on endless grasslands and had the grand hall of the King right in the center. Although still slowly being inhabited again by all the refugees that had fled to Helm's Deep, the city was going to bounce back and be grand once more and very soon with Eomer in charge who accepted nothing but perfection. Legolas turned towards the new King,

"Strange to think the first time we met I had an arrow notched waiting to go into your forehead." Eomer laughed heartily,

"Yes, I had high curiosity why an elf, dwarf, and ranger in disguise would be seen together. I'm surprised Gimli didn't decide to come with you." Legolas smiled,

"Unfortunately my father was born of the first age, and doesn't take kindly yet to dwarves and men. I'm hopeful to change his views, and when the time is right...well we in the Woodland Realm may just need to celebrate and invite all of Middle Earth. For everyone comes to Mirkwood for celebrations."

"What do you tend to talk about with a man who was born of the first age? I would imagine that to be difficult. I mean he must know just about everything," Eomer asked.

"Oh he'd like to think so. When you meet him, don't you dare say that. His ego is big enough as it is. But to answer your question, his favorite topic is wine since it's timeless." This caused Eomer to chuckle and then sigh,

"It is good to be home, it won't be the same without my dear uncle and my sister but time does heal. I would imagine the longing for your "neck of the woods" is even greater. You've been gone for how long?"

"Thirteen months. Yes, I long to be back in my realm and allow things to go back to what was at one point normal."

"Is that possible? Do you ever truly believe it will be normal once again?" Eomer questioned. It was a fair question and was something that Legolas often pondered, but deep down he knew it never could be. Celdanine was gone, and he worried constantly if the void she left was too much for Amitiel to cope with. He had no way of knowing how his elfling was, he only received the one letter explaining the tragedy that had occurred. There was no way of sending a letter back or receiving any more news, by then they were far away from Rivendell. Many a times Legolas had asked himself if he had done the right thing by continuing his mission with the Fellowship. Was it right to leave for many months after his son had lost his mother? In the end, Legolas did think he did the right thing, with the one ring destroyed he felt that was the ultimate way he could protect the youngling. Sensing the elf's change of mood, Eomer decided to not question further as he was obviously in a distressed thought.

The horses trotted through the gate into Rohan as many women and children cheered them and leaped upon the soldiers joyously. Eomer and Legolas rode up to the grand hall with the flags adorned with horses waving hopefully in the wind.

"Come my friend, let's find you something to eat. Won't you stay the night? Let Arod rest a full night in a stable and he will run all the rest of the way to Mirkwood." Eomer dismounted as Legolas followed when a stable boy took both horses.

"For five straight days?" The elf asked as Eomer crinkled his eyebrows and nose in a confused demeanor,

"If you rode hard all night with limited breaks, you can get there in two days. Never underestimate a Rohirrim horse." Legolas nodded pleasantly,

"Then I suppose I would stay the night if I could. Truly, I can be home that soon?" It was too good to be true. Eomer nodded and smiled at the reserved but unmistakably happy elf.

"Come, I'm starved. Cook makes the best berry tarts." Eomer turned around as he pranced up the stairs and made his way into his great hall, as Legolas stood outside for a moment on the terrace. He reveled in how soon he would see Amitiel. Although insignificant to the life of an elf, this past year had most definitely changed Amitiel. Legolas was trying to prepare himself that he would be different, but different he knew not how. He still held on earnestly to the last time he had seen his wife and son.

(FLASHBACK)

Celdanine had wrapped her arms around her husband as he kissed her. She knew he had no choice but to go to Rivendell, but she knew the Prince would be gone for quite a long time. War was inevitable, it was just a matter of time before the first arrow was shot.

"Please come back to me, please." She brokenly pleaded as tears were streaming down her cheeks silently as she buried her face in his neck. Legolas held her tighter,

"I will, for I am yours as you are mine." She released him as he kissed her again once more as she placed her hand on his cheek; he kissed her wrist as he gently released it. He took a deep breath as he turned to the Princeling,

"Amitiel," he whispered. The Princeling couldn't look up, he knew he would cry and he just couldn't cry in front of his father when it was him riding off to war. Legolas cupped the elfling's chin up as he wanted his eyes. Amitiel looked up; immediately tears sprung to his sapphire eyes. Legolas gathered his son in his arms as the elfling cried into his chest,

"Why?! Why won't you let me come with you?" Amitiel croaked as he pulled his head out and looked up to his father, "You've seen me shoot, I can fight. You said I shoot like I was born in the first age!" Legolas bit his lip and breathed,

"And I meant it, ion nin. You do." Celdanine looked sadly at her elfling as she put her hands on his shoulders and smoothed out his beautiful and newly braided sunny, blonde locks clad with his opal and silver circlet.

"But," Legolas said sternly, "I need you here in the realm to stay with your mother and our King. Someone needs to stay here to look after them, won't you do that for me?" Of course the other huge factor of the Princeling staying was that had his father fallen in battle he would be the heir of the Woodland Realms. It was a painful but necessary conversation, but it was one that Thranduil needed to have with Legolas and Celdanine the night before the Prince left.

The Princeling blinked back tears as he nodded. Legolas kissed the youngling's forehead,

"I'll be back as soon as I can." He reassured this as he gently released his elfling as Amitiel wiped away his tears, upset with himself to loose his composure in front of Legolas. The Prince sighed as he turned and mounted his horse as he saw the two hundred woodland elven warriors behind him. He took one last glimpse of his small family and offered a smile as they both weakly returned it. With a simple nod of his head, he kicked his horse as he and the two hundred warriors cantered away, going further and further from the fortress. Celdanine wrapped her arm around her youngling's torso as he took her slender hand and held it to his heart. Together they watched the riders disappear into the forest.

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

"Do elves often disappear in their thoughts?" Eomer asked laughing at Legolas from the doorway of the hall. The Prince whipped his head back in shock as Eomer stood smiling at the quirkiness of the elven folk. Legolas was about to explain but Eomer continued,

"It's alright, my friend. A man's... or rather an elf's thoughts belong to him and him alone." Legolas nodded appreciating the sentiment.

"Well come inside, the cooks have laid an elven spread and even attempted a Lembas bread recipe." Eomer said trying to lighten up the elf's mood.

"How hospitable." Together Legolas and Eomer entered the grand hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Another installment! Just a quick note, since school has started back up for me, the installments will be coming but it will be taking more time. When they do come, I will be uploading them on the weekends. Thank you so much for reading this. I can't believe so many of you have followed, favorited and have written such nice reviews. Thank you for everything!

As always, Tolkein owns everything and I own nothing...so on and so forth.

Although the Lembas was on the spectrum of horse feed in texture and taste, Legolas was no less grateful. The problem was just that only the elves could harvest the grain used to make the bread authentic. Of course not knowing this, Eomer could only assume that the elves had no taste whatsoever. After the meal, Eomer showed Legolas to his quarters where there was a giant four poster bed, fur blankets, and a roaring fire in the pit in the middle of the room. Eomer left the elf by himself knowing full well that whatever was the matter with his friend he would rather be alone with his thoughts than be enquired about them. Legolas took off his bow, quiver, swords and cloak as he placed them on the bed as he took a seat by the fire in a large arm chair. He watched the wood split and the fire consume the ash until his eyes began to flutter as he began to lightly doze. The dawn couldn't come fast enough, but he needed Arod to rest. It was only midday, and the Prince was too impatient. Legolas in an annoyed fashion began to grind his teeth until it rendered him a throbbing headache. Unable to think, worry, or wonder anymore, the Prince finally surrendered and closed his eyes completely. Beginning tomorrow, he wouldn't sleep for two whole days but in the end he knew it would be worth it. _Since when have I ever felt impatience?_ He wondered this being almost frustrated at himself for showing such human qualities. After all, being an elf a day felt the same as a century.

(BACK IN MIRKWOOD)

So it was settled, on opposite sides of the path in the tallest branches of the grand beech trees with silvery bark, Amitiel and Uriel patiently waited for their targets to pass from under them. In the sea of blonde and brunette hued hair down below, finding the distinguished onyx headed brood of Elrond would be easier than arguing with Yrren. Amitiel looked up as Uriel anticipated with excitement, bow in hand. As he glanced down below, the twins were passing joking back and forth as usual,

"To just think, that kid used to not be able to hold his fork straight, and then father gave him Narsil!" Elladan cracked up as he could barely stay still on his horse.

"I bet that crown couldn't even fit on that big head of his!" Elrohir added as he almost cackled he was laughing so hard. Amitiel furrowed his eyebrows confusingly. Of course they were speaking of Estel, but what did Isildur's broken and shattered blade have to do with that. Uriel motioned for Amitiel as he took his position taking his bow and reaching in his pack for an acorn as was planned. Amitiel imitated the motion as he too got an acorn and notched it into his bow as he aimed for Elrohir's head. He released as it hit the cackling jokester hard, for Amitiel never missed.

"Aiya!" Elrohir clutched the back of his head as he then hit his brother in the back of the head in fraud retaliation, "What was that for?!"

"Have you been eating the blue mushrooms of this wood? I did nothing!" Elladan said angrily at being assaulted for no reason. At that precise moment, Uriel notched his acorn and sent it flying into Elladan's head.

"Lle tela?! (Are you finished)" Elladan asked angrily,

"With what? You started it!" Elrohir challenged. Amitiel and Uriel bit their lips as sidesplitting laughter was almost audible, Amitiel motioned and together he and Uriel sent volleys upon volleys of acorns as they pelted the twins. They lowered their heads and covered themselves with their arms to shield themselves from the seemingly never ending attack. They frantically searched the forest for the aggressors, but the younglings in the trees were too well camouflaged to be seen with even the most precise sight that both Elrond's sons possessed. Soon both the friends were all out of acorns, and they finally released their laughter as it came in uncontrolled spasms. High elves discovered the two woodland elves in their hiding spots and looked disapprovingly at them but neither Amitiel or Uriel cared, especially the Princeling. Appropriate since his father had no siblings, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel were the closest to uncles he had. As with the nature of family, it was only expected to deliver a crossfire of acorns every now and again. Looking at each other puzzled and then looking up into the tree tops to see their nephew and his friend, Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other again smirking so high that their ears raised practically higher than their heads. In a terrifying speed, the twins were off their horses and already half way up into the trees before Amitiel or Uriel could recover from their howling episodes. Amitiel quickly stood up on the branch as Uriel did the same, the acorn idea was only part one of two.

"Desiel? (Ready?)" Amitiel called.

"So ready!" Uriel insisted. They waited until the twins were high enough, almost at their feet.

"You're so dead, Princeling." Elrohir singsonged as he reached for Amitiel's leg

"Now!" He yelled.

"It's a sham! They've planned something else!" Elladan yelled at his brother, but it was too late. At the exact same time, Amitiel and Uriel jumped from the trees as they plunged to the ground. Tumbling they rolled as they both sprang up quickly in front of many high elves who were no longer surprised at the childish behavior, and mounted the twins' horses. Glancing behind him for a moment, The Princeling watched his uncles in the trees in shock...they were played and they knew it. How humbling it would be for the sons of Elrond to have their horses stolen in such a ridiculous manner by elves that were not even 100 years old.

"Thanks for the ride!" Amitiel copied the singsong voice that Elrohir had previously done. Laughing hysterically, Amitiel kicked the horse as it flew off the path with Uriel following closely behind. The horses jumped over a large tree root; the friends galloped dodging trees and branches. It was a well known short cut by woodland elves, but high elves wouldn't dare leave the path.

"Um...Amitiel," Uriel stammered. Amitiel looked behind distressingly when hearing intense anxiety in his friend's voice. Of course...of course the twins left the path and of course they were following them closely overhead in the canopy. They were hovering above them now. Since they were a good foot taller than Amitiel and Uriel, this caused them to leap like elk but fly like ravens in the trees.

"We're in trouble," Uriel stated as he just stared at the twin terrors with flowing ebony hair above him. Amitiel sighed as he too looked up,

"No," he disagreed, "we're dead."

"Tampa! (Stop!)" Elladan's voice cracked the jurisdiction. That command echoed throughout the forest and Amitiel braced himself as the horses skidded to a full stop as he and Uriel were thrown off flipping in the air and slamming gracelessly to the ground.

"Aiya!" Uriel cried clinging on to his ribs as he coughed from the impact. Amitiel felt completely dizzy and could definitely taste the dirt in his mouth as he lifted his head. The tirade twins descended from the canopy as they tackled the younglings on the ground. Amitiel peered up at Elladan who had him up on his feet by his shoulders as Elrohir did the same to Uriel,

"Lle lava, (Do you yield) Princeling?" Elladan asked as he held his nephew under his arm in his elbow.

"Aaye (Hail) my lords Elladan and Elrohir!" The Princeling doted sarcastically, "Ever am I so honored to have you in my realm."

"It's a pleasure," Uriel agreed as Elrohir tightened his grip on the youngling.

"Lle lava?" Elladan asked again patiently ignoring the cheekiness that Amitiel offered.

"Absolutely not," Amitiel refused, as was his nature of being royalty. Not yielding no matter what even in the eyes of defeat was something that his father had ingrained in him. However, charming and delegating were two skills that Thranduil taught the elfling, "But perhaps I could offer you some wine...I'm sure my King would be more than happy to share with you some first age novelties." Immediately Elladan and Elrohir released them, only for them both to crowd Amitiel and ruffle his hair.

"Mae govannen!" Elrohir said as he slapped the elfling on the back as Elladan whacked the back of his head in an affectionate way. They felt it was their right to put the youngling in his place, they were his uncles after all. But even Elrohir noticed that when his hand had made contact with the elfling's back, his spine bulged out far more than it had in the year since he had last seen him. The twins had come, as did many elves of Imladris to Celdanine's remembrance funeral. All elves of Lothlorien attended the funeral because that was where Celdanine was born and lived until she fell in love with a certain woodland elf. Although half high elf, a Lothlorien high elf no less, Amitiel never claimed this side of himself. He was all Woodland as far as he was concerned.

"I'm almost surprised you didn't pull knives on us," Amitiel said, "you both seem to be taking this prank too well."

"That's just probably because we are dead exhausted. Since our Lord Elrond left for Minas Tirith, we've had to resume his duties at Imladris." Elrohir suggested.

"We've come to the realization why we've never once seen our father sleep. We've housed so many visitors coming through on their journeys back home since the war has ended." Elladan added.

"So my guess is that you didn't attend Estel's coronation? Your sister's wedding?" Uriel asked as he continued to massage his sore neck from the pressured hold that took place only a few moments ago.

"We had no choice; Imladris is flooded with dwarves, elves, men, the hobbits came for a time. Why we housed your Mirkwood warriors only a few days prior. Not only that, but the place has also been used as an infirmary. With our father gone, we've had to take on his healing responsibilities as well." Elrohir said as he placed his hand on his forehead almost getting a headache from the thought. Lord Elrond was by far the most superior healer in all of Middle Earth with Elladan and Elrohir a humble ways behind, he did this by transferring efficiently some of his energy into the wounded. It was much like what Thranduil had done to keep his grandchild from fading, but even that could render an elf unimaginably weak if they hadn't practiced the skill frequently.

"So..." Amitiel started, he was stupidly going to ask if his father had stopped in Imladris, but if Lord Elrond hadn't even returned yet from Minas Tirith where a supposed Mirkwood elf who was close with Estel was last seen, there was truly no point in asking. He stopped himself as he cleared his throat,

"Let's get back to the fortress. I suspect we can snag a few bottles before the true celebration begins tonight."

The twins mounted their horses as Uriel and Amitiel walked beside them. Mostly they were hearing the twins quip back and forth about trivial things as usual. The most common was them fighting over who was better with which weapon, but never would they dare mention the bow when they were in the presence of Amitiel. They knew full well, that this elfling although extremely young in the terms of an elf could trample them in this area blindfolded with one hand bound behind him. It was the exact same with Legolas. Sometimes both the brothers had to remind themselves that Amitiel wasn't Legolas, but that proved challenging more often than not. The brothers had decided to not mention the elfling's father at all during this trip, as they too hadn't heard any word from him since he was in Imladris. They neither wanted to give nor take away hope; both the twins had lost many friends in this war, and it was a more than probable that Legolas was one of them. Amitiel could never begin to understand the complete slaughter that took place, and perhaps he was just better off not knowing because naivety is bliss in it's true form. Legolas had disclosed to the twins at Rivendell that the true reason he went to fight was so that it wouldn't be a battle that Amitiel would need to take part in the future. He didn't want his son to know of the tragedies and brutality of war; this wouldn't be his fate.

They soon returned to the fortress; Uriel placed the horses in the stable as Amitiel ran to the cellar quietly and grabbed four bottles. The entire fortress on the outside and inside was complete and utter chaos, there were elves everywhere both high and woodland conversing with goblets already in their hands. In the kitchen, food was frantically being made and lembas had been baking all day. Attendants on the outside were busily placing lanterns in the trees and placing wood in the fire pits. Musicians had begun practicing outside as enormous tables were being set with only the best silverware. There were rumors that Gandalf would attend one night this week and grace the elves with his famous fireworks. Flowers were getting strung out in huge ornate garlands that wrapped around the entire terrace. Thranduil in the throng of people from the corner of his eye observed his disheveled grandson garnering the four bottles of wine making his getaway,

"What are you doing?" He mouthed to Amitiel, not wanting anyone to notice a Princeling of the Woodland Realm in that attire with an apparent drinking problem.

"Being a good host." He mouthed back giving a sarcastic wink. Thranduil raised his frosted eyebrows at the elfling as he returned to his conversation.

The Princeling reappeared outside as he made his way back to the twins and Uriel who were down by the stream next to the break of the waterfall and relaxing on the soft moss. He jumped down and completed the circle as he sat and passed everyone a bottle as he opened them with his knife.

"Now this is the true definition of a reception." Elrohir smiled as he took a swig from his bottle. No wine in the world could compare to that of Mirkwood.

"How much wine does a Woodland party go through?" Elladan asked out of curiosity but was also frightened when thinking of the answer.

"In a week," Uriel hypothesized, "at least a dozen tons modestly." Amitiel nodded.

"Modestly?" Elladan whistled.

"Us Mirkwood elves make sure our guests are well taken care of, especially our sister kingdoms." Amitiel reasoned.

"It's too bad Estel and Lady Arwen won't come." Uriel said, this only prompted for Amitiel to smile at his friend. Only the Princeling knew that Uriel had a mortal infatuation for the Lady Arwen.

"I suspect it will take a long time for the crown to feel normal. He needs time to figure that out. Not only that, but I can personally attest to the fact that my sister is not an easy person to live with." Elrohir laughed.

"Ruling Gondor will appear leisurely when he realizes she'll want to change out all the curtains to match the pillows." Elladan acknowledged as Elrohir cracked up at the comment. Amitiel scrunched his nose at that, obviously not believing that even for a moment. But still it was funny watching the twins tease their sister when she wasn't even there to defend herself.

The Princeling decided to move on to another topic, one that had been bickering at his mind for the better part of an hour,

"So, what were the two of you saying about Narsil? Elrond gave back the shattered sword of Isildur to Estel?" Amitiel was dying to hear any details.

"Not only are Amitiel and Uriel assailants, but you both are also spies." Elladan made a _tisk tisk _noise with his tongue, "I didn't realize that elflings from Thranduil's house were being raised by wolves." Amitiel grinned,

"Actually wargs...not wolves." Everyone shared a laugh. "No but seriously...the sword?" Amitiel was desperate to know.

"It's no longer shattered, we were the ones who forged it back together." Elrohir said, this only caused the two elflings to look at each other as goose bumps claimed their skin. There was no weapon or man that the dark lord feared more than Narsil and Estel.

"Father had the idea that Estel could conjure the fallen and damned army of Gondor with the sword for reinforcement to defend Minas Tirith." Elladan explained, "I assume they succeeded, and then Estel released them, holding their oaths fulfilled." At this point, both elflings had gaping mouths provoking the twins to laugh at them.

"It's just unreal," Amitiel disclosed, "so...I mean it's all truly over. Gondor's king has returned and Sauron is dead. Middle Earth is free." There was so much weight to the words, everything that Legolas had fought for and had possibly and likely died for was worth it.

"I'll drink to that," Elladan voiced enthusiastically as he raised his bottle as everyone toasted. This was what tonight's and the rest of this week's feasting was all about, the end of the war and the start of a new life and to pay homage to those had given their lives for this day to come. As everyone took a swig, Elrohir added,

"I want a party ten fold the size of this one when I hold the head of the last orc to walk Middle Earth. Another cheers for that day to come sooner than we think." He said this looking at Amitiel in respect as the Princeling responded,

"We were cut from the same cloth. Cuamin linduva yassen megrille. (My bow shall sing with your sword. Tenna' san', (Until then) let's celebrate." All together they guzzled the wine.

If there were only two people who could understand loosing their mother to orcs besides Amitiel, it was Elrohir and Elladan. They were the ones who had saved Celebrian from her imprisonment where she was tortured and barely alive when they had found her. Although healed by Elrond, the emotional scarring was far too much for her to bare and she sailed for the Valinor later that same month. The twins have blamed themselves for her passing every day since. Hence the twins carried with them the very same bearing that Amitiel had, and swore an undying hatred for the entire orc race. It was an odd sort of thing to find elves who detested orcs even more than goblins, but this abhorrence nonetheless was a large string in the twins' and Amitiel's makeup.


	5. Chapter 5

Another installment! Thank you so much for reading, favorites, following and reviews! It is much appreciated! I'm having so much fun with this! Enjoy!

I own nothing...JRR Tolkein made this world and I only revel in it!

Slightly tipsy after a whole bottle, all four were laughing hysterically at seemingly the stupidest things. They had teased just about every elf to pass their way mercilessly and made outright fools of themselves. Ellladan had actually felt bold enough that he wobbled over to a stunning she-elf who was a good century older than himself and planted a sloppy kiss on her. Elf maidens however never tolerate the absurdity of drunks so Elladan received a well-deserved and ruthless slap to the face. The strike was so forceful that Elladan was knocked down onto his back; but due to his intoxicated stupor this only caused a fit of giggles. Elrohir was gagging he was laughing so hard at seeing his brother rolling in pain on the ground. Amitiel and Uriel shared a gaze, never would they have done that drunk or sober, but it was no less amusing.

Night was soon approaching. The lanterns were being lit in the trees already and the tables were being laid with an abundance of food and drink. Amitiel swooned temporarily out of the conversation as he lost himself in the pounding sound of the waterfall that fed the grand river that ran underneath the bridge and wrapped protectively around the entire stronghold. Whether it was the alcohol or just his usual love of nature, the river was seemingly bluer than usual. It was older than Thranduil, and was freezing year round because it was the melted snow and ice coming directly from the Misty Mountains. It was the stronghold's greatest defense; with a single command spoken in the Sindarin dialect the river responded and razed all invaders.

"Amitiel!" The Princeling startled as his ears pricked at hearing the annoyed voice of none other than Yrren. Standing on the narrow bridge that lead into the fortress she eyed Amitiel frustratingly. She had her hands on her hips and she looked disheveled, obviously she had been searching for him for the better part of the hour. Realizing his mistake, the Princeling rolled his eyes as he stood up a little off balance from the wine. He stretched and put his hands on his face as he exhaled and pushed his hair back as he addressed his uncles and Uriel,

"Sorry, my warden's calling me back. It was nice running with the stallions."

"Wait!" Elrohir protested, "Where are you going and what's going on?" He blinked lazily, the alcohol was slurring his words.

"He's leaving as Amitiel but will be coming back a Princeling." Uriel reasoned but he too who was absolutely inebriated had to look at Amitiel for confirmation. The Princeling nodded. Giving a final good bye he then twirled around as he began running towards the bridge as he looked up at his nurse maid who was tapping her foot impatiently. He ran up the side of the wall, his used the balls of his feet to nimbly push himself up the twenty foot wall as he pulled himself up to a handstand on the bridge, flipped over and was face to face with Yrren. She raised her eyebrows not even bothering to notice or give any sign of astonishment from Amitiel's athleticism,

"Do you know what time it is?"

"I'm no genius, but I'd say it's past 6 o'clock?" Yrren scowled but then a joyous grin played on her lips,

"I see you've had something to drink?"

"Me?" Amitiel asked innocently as he pointed to himself, "No. Don't be silly."

"Well, your bath _was _warm, but alas that was a good hour ago. Maybe a cold one will sober you up before the feast begins."

"Is that why you're smiling from ear to ear?" Amitiel asked; she didn't trouble herself to nod at the obvious,

"Come along." Together he and Yrren walked across the bridge and headed inside. The Princeling noticed that even the guards at the front of the fortress were gulping down some bottles. This although would be found to be unacceptable in normal circumstances, the war was over and there was no threat. It was time to celebrate for all.

After a lavender infused yet freezing bath much to the Princeling's dislike, he leaped out and towel dried his hair. When wet, his hair was almost a dark honey color but when he revealed his mane by removing the towel, it was it's usual platinum-gold hue that was always recognizable. He was irrefutably Thranduil's pedigree. As he began buttoning his lavish tunic, he allowed Yrren to comb out the tangles.

"My, how handsome you are!" Her breath was taken away when she saw the Lothlorien in him coming out for a turn. It was amazing how much the youngling resembled his father on a daily basis, but it was Celdanine's eyes that shown through tonight. Soon Yrren was reminded that he was indeed still Woodland; he reached for his bow.

"Now tell me," she said exasperated, "why would you need weapons at a feast?" About to protest, Amitiel then suddenly thought of the question. The truth was that he honestly felt naked and vulnerable without it; the bow was such a large part of his identity. He groaned as he reluctantly released it,

"Fine." His voice was slightly hoarse from laughing so hard with Uriel and the twins. On the downside, he had a pounding headache from the wine. He hadn't a clue how Thranduil could drink his weight and still hold a decent enough conversation or break a deal or settle an alliance.

Taking a seat on the velvet chaise, he slid his feet into the boots that he had refused to try on earlier and immediately he knew they didn't feel right. They were entirely too small; Yrren was watching the process critically, obviously knowing they were not the right size. Amitiel refused to give Yrren the satisfaction that she was right. So he curled his toes and he pulled the boots up his legs as he laced them tightly. Standing up he almost fell over in discomfort but caught himself before he thought Yrren had noticed, but of course she noticed.

"I told you." Was all she said with raised eyebrows as she adjusted his collar and plated and neatened his hair. She pulled it all to his back, taking two small strands and pulling them to frame his face on both sides to give the illusion of braids. Obviously knowing that he would refuse to wear them,

"There," Yrren said proudly, "you look the part. All you have to do now is act it."

"That's the hardest part." He joked as he took one last look at himself in the mirror. The transformation made him a stranger to even himself, right down to his very scent. Overpowering, the lavender concealed any essence of the Woodland Realm that he loved. Everything from the fresh water to the beech trees, summer breeze, falling leaves, roots and grass...it was gone.

"Well...here goes nothing." He nodded farewell to Yrren as he strutted out of his room and down the hallway almost limping because his shoes were constricting his feet. When he began to see guests he'd just have to fake it.

Making his way to the throne room he went down a passageway towards the back of the fortress; there he found Thranduil in front of the grand back doors that lead out onto the terrace and into the party. Thranduil as expected dressed flawlessly in a translucent, silvery cape, he had a similar tunic to Amitiel's and of course had his pointed crown which was his signature.

"I suspect Yrren hunted you down?" He teased, but he too was incredibly impressed how Amitiel appeared with such royal conduct; he too was shocked, especially due to the fact that he had no bow in hand. Noticing the flushed cheeks and wobbly footing of his grandchild he added,

"I see you've emptied some bottles? Not too hammered are we?" Amitiel eyed his King and switched to Sindarin,

"Is patronizing your favorite pastime? It was one bottle. I'm sure you've had at least four bottles by now, my King." He adored flattering his grandfather in his native tongue.

"I've lost track," he responded as he finished his goblet to prove a point. He set it down on a server's tray as he took Amitiel by the shoulder,

"Come, we've guests to entertain." The grand doors opened as the King and Princeling made their grand entrance onto the terrace.

Descending down the stairs, butterflies took Amitiel's stomach when seeing all the pairs of well-dressed eyes that were on him. Everyone clapped at their arrival, there must have been three thousand elves there at least. Amitiel acknowledged and nodded to everyone as to his embarrassment many bowed in return. As they came to the last step, the Princeling noted his grandfather as he effortlessly floated through the crowds already with another goblet of wine even though he had absolutely no idea where he got it. Uriel immediately weaved through the crowd as he ran up to his friend with a uncontained grin. Before he had even the chance to say anything, Amitiel without moving his lips and in a whisper so that no one could hear,

"Before you grace me with the many things you you're dying to say about my outfit, I warn you revenge will be sweet." Uriel swallowed his jokes,

"Alright, fine. Wait...where's your bow?" Amitiel sighed,

"Obviously not with me. It's in my room...why?"

"Well...I sort of bet some money with some elflings our age from Imladris...just a friendly competition." He explained.

"Ok, well you can shoot...it's your money and your bet...what do you need me for?" Amitiel asked almost dreading the answer.

"Well...the bet wasn't for me to shoot...it was more of a bet on...well on you." Uriel staggered. Amitiel peered at his friend, incredibly annoyed.

"I don't like being watched, I'd expect you to know this. I also don't shoot for bets, it's a skill and it's not to be used in a manner such as this. Call of the bet." Uriel released a nervous hiccup of laughter as he wrapped his arm around the Princeling's neck,

"Let's eat some, drink some. I'm sure you'll feel differently about it perhaps later on into the night."

"I doubt it." Amitiel hissed back. It wasn't just Uriel who was on his nerves, it was the damned tight shoes as well. He could barely walk, and he began to loose feeling in his toes.

Music was playing, the wine was flowing and elves from all three sister kingdoms were stuffing their faces with the finest food and dancing all around the terrace. Large congregations of eligible she-elves surrounded Amitiel begging for a dance. He tried appeasing as many as he possibly could, but they kept coming in packs. Seeing out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thranduil laughing at his discomfort; he too remembered times long past when girls chased after him and later on Legolas. Now it was the Princeling's turn. Thranduil caught himself smiling, imagining the destined day when Amitiel would find his future wife at a festivity such as this. It wasn't that Amitiel disliked dancing with the fair and beautiful maidens, but he just immensely despised how they crowded him and grabbed him in many different directions. Even when he was dancing with one already and they were holding a decent enough conversation, it wouldn't last long because the next maiden would budge and come between them. After many hours of dancing, Amitiel eyed Uriel pleading for help as his friend stood up from his seat and came to aid,

"Alright, lovely maidens." He addressed respectfully as he bowed to them, "I'm afraid the Princeling has others to see this night. So please bid your farewells." They all sighed in disappointment as Uriel whisked him away. When they were out of earshot and eyesight, Amitiel began limping showing his irritation with his boots,

"Remind me, next time I'm trying on the boots before an event. I owe you one." Uriel laughed as he patted Amitiel on the back,

"Just win the bet and we'll be even. Let's go find the twins."

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

The Prince was dreaming peacefully, for it was in his dreams he sought the most comfort because it was an escape from reality. Mainly they were of Celdanine and Amitiel together. Many weren't quite dreams but rather fond memories.

He watched from the doorway of their bedroom; she was brushing the elfling's hair on the bed as he sat in her lap patiently as he played with the small tassels of her gown. It was his begotten day, a special day for any elfling as it usually meant presents and a celebration. Legolas entered the room with his gift hidden behind his back; he took a seat on the bed next to Amitiel who was grinning and overjoyed to see his Adar. The youngling scrambled from his mother's lap and sat between his parents in anticipation with an impressive posture wanting to show that he was almost grown up; Celdanine and Legolas shared a proud gaze.

"You may need to grow into this, Amitiel." Legolas explained as he handed the elfling the hickory and beech longbow. It was light enough for an elfling to carry but could still do considerable damage to any foe. On the grip of the bow, it had the carved crest of Thranduil. Ecstatic glee shown on the elfling's face as grabbed it. It was a good couple of feet taller than the elfling but that didn't discourage him.

"Diola lle! Diola lle! Diola lle! (Thank you!)" The Princeling exclaimed as he stood up holding the longbow pretending to draw it. Even though he hadn't taken any lessons yet, he fearlessly embraced the weapon and already demonstrated such naturally skill. It wasn't so much that Amitiel knew what he was doing, but after observing Legolas for a decade this day, he at least knew the motion. Amitiel didn't want to appear ungrateful, but one could only wonder if he received a bow would he not also get his own quiver and dozen arrows? Celdanine had seen this play in her son's eyes. Without another word, she gathered some the material from her gown as she revealed the quiver and arrows that were lying on the bed. Amitiel trembled in excitement as Celdanine buckled the quiver around his torso as it rested at an angle on his back. Unable to resist, Amitiel reached for an arrow as he notched it into the bow. His mother quickly took hold of the arrow before it was released,

"Outside only." He nodded as he hugged his mother around her waist,

"Diola lle!" The Princeling rapidly turned on his heel as he then turned to his father and hugged him as well. Rushing to the door and out into the hallway he sprinted as if his feet were on fire screaming,

"Uriel won't believe this!" Celdanine giggled as she stood up,

"I'm worried we have created an obsession." Legolas smiled,

"He's begged for how long?" He watched his wife gather all her hair as she sat down in front of her vanity and began braiding her rich and shiny golden hair that went all the way to her waist.

"I'm fairly sure since he knew how to string a sentence together." She answered as she watched her husband in the mirror sauntering over to her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her cheek,

"Melleth nin." She whispered as she caressed his cheek. Suddenly someone was clearing his throat,

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the Elvenking spoke as Legolas immediately stopped and gazed at his father who was standing in the doorway.

"You're not interrupting." Legolas insisted as Celdanine blushed and stifled her laughter.

"Of course I'm not," Thranduil reasoned, even when he blatantly knew he was, "I assume the youngling received his bow today?" Legolas nodded,

"Yes, just now. Why?"

"No reason. Except when I was holding council just now, an arrow sailed through and destroyed the window in the throne room." Thranduil explained biting on his lip to keep from smiling, "The arrow lodged itself deep into the front door. He has quite the arm." Legolas put his hand on his mouth to also conceal his grin,

"He only just left. How is that even possible?"

"Of course it's possible." Thranduil inferred, "It was you who broke ten windows in ten minutes."

"Ten?" Celdanine gasped.

"Oh yes, my dear. It was ten. So as it would seem...the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Thranduil answered.

"Isn't that more of a slander on you?" Legolas asked honestly , "You are after all the tree, and by far one of the oldest trees." Before Thranduil could answer with something equally jocular,

"King Thranduil," a servant voiced from the corridor, "I'm sorry to intrude, but two more windows have shattered." This was purely the icing on the cake. Soon all three released hysterical laughter, even Thranduil had tears in his eyes as he was breathless.

"I'd better go find him before we have a new record." Legolas said as he left the room trying to restrain his unbridled mirth.

He found a sheepish Princeling with Uriel who also was flushed with embarrassment. With only a few simple adjustments and tips, the next shot was exceptional. From that moment on all shots were exemplary, for Amitiel never missed.

Without warning, this one of many favorite memories of the Prince faded as a new dream approached. It was far bleaker and instantaneously Legolas was petrified with fear. He was inside a cavern of some sort, not Mirkwood caverns but instead mountainous caverns that were in flame. The heat burned the Prince's throat as the smoke suffocated him. Thousands of orcs were singed to death at his feet, a great battle had taken place. Elves from all around him continued fighting orcs that were still standing, the clashing of metal echoed throughout the cavity of the mountain. It didn't take Legolas long to realize he was within the Misty Mountain chain, the declared home of orcs. All at once a grand explosion from a single spiked bomb detonated, making the entire cavern rumble and violently convulse. A blocked barrier made from metal and wood that was over twice the height of the black gate collapsed in response as voluminous water broke through as it began flooding the cavern's lower levels.

"Climb Amitiel!" Uriel screeched as he looked down from the cliff overseeing the lower levels. Legolas darted to Uriel's side as he beheld the sight of Amitiel climbing the smooth side of the cliff down below trying to escape the unforgiving waves of water that were palpitating practically at his feet. The water extinguished much of the fire but was gaining in height. Amitiel scaled the wall as fast as he could and made much progress as the water was a far enough ways below him. Legolas watched helplessly, knowing only too well that the slightest mistake and his son would fall into the hellish waters that became frothy white in it's turbulence. On the other cliff that was parallel to where Legolas was standing, an unusually large orc with eyebrow piercings and a distinguished battle scar that went through his forehead through his eye and down his cheek causing that eye to be blind, took aim at the Princeling with a ferocious longbow. Watching in horrid slow motion, Legolas saw him release as the arrow pierced the air and plummeted into Amitiel's right thigh.

"Aiya!" He exclaimed as he lost his footing but held on adamantly with both his arms onto a thin ledge. Beads of sweat streamed down Amitiel's forehead into his eyes, he wasn't even half way up the enormous cliff but he was exhausted. He looked like he had fought his own war and could honestly do no more. Legolas desperately notched his own bow as he released the arrow as it hit the orc in the collarbone but he was still standing and snarling barely even noticing it. Trembling in fear for his son, Legolas notched another, but the orc had already released as this arrow went directly through Amitiel's left arm. The Princeling cried out as he lost his grasp and soon it was only his right hand that held him up on the wall. Legolas watched helplessly as Amitiel stained the wall crimson with his blood as it began to drip. Taking aim, Legolas released another arrow as this one bore through the orc's neck. Despite the deadly shot, the orc still stood as he took his last arrow and targeted the Princeling. Amitiel no longer facing the wall instead looked upon his attacker with his torso faced toward the orc as he still hung on for dear life on the sill. The arrow whizzed through the air as a deadly silence overtook the entire cavern as it plunged inside the Princeling's chest. Amitiel coughed up blood, but he still grasped the ledge only barely.

"If I'm going, then so are you!" He screamed as blood trickled from his mouth. With his injured arm he took a throwing knife from his boot as he tossed it with the little strength he had left upward as it hurtled and lacerated the orc's face. The orc howled in pain as he covered his face with both his hands as he stumbled around; he staggered too close to the edge of the cliff and descended into the white water beneath. Amitiel began to breathe heavily as his arm began to shake. Legolas saw that his son's eyes were becoming a milky white, they weren't focusing; the arrow that was lodged into his chest was obviously poisoned. Unable to clutch the wall any longer, Amitiel's fingers slipped as he fell into the chasm of a watery grave.

Legolas bolted from his arm chair as he practically fell into the fire pit, he was sweating profusely and was breathing as if he had been running as fast as he could for miles on end. Honest terror fell upon him, this hadn't been a mere dream. Even awake he was still seeing the images and nothing else. Legolas went cold as he felt sick to his stomach at his realization. It wasn't just a nightmare...it was a vision. This would come to pass eventually. There was no time to waste, Legolas would have to leave tonight. After months of no connection with his son, Legolas wouldn't just ignore this foresight. For this wasn't just a hallucination of the human kind, this was true insight that came to elves alone. Elven powers such as this came with age and wisdom. Instincts also played a part, since his journey home Legolas had felt the growing and impending need to get home as fast as possible. It wasn't just in desperation to see his youngling, it was of deeper urgency. Depending on his arrival home, it would somehow alter Amitiel's fate although he knew not how or why. Without another thought, Legolas grabbed his cloak, bow, quiver and swords and left the room swiftly.


	6. Chapter 6

Another installment! Thank you all so much for following, favoriting and reviewing! You all have been so kind! Please enjoy!

I own nothing...everything belongs to JRR Tolkein of course.

Breathing heavily in nerves, Legolas made his way to the grand throne room of the Edoras fort. Although a cozy room with tables seated with the Rohirrim cavalry men with pints in hand and a roaring fire in the pit with meat smoking, the Prince was chilled to the bone of the images that kept reappearing in his head. Eomer was at a large barrel of ale filling two pints as it foamed over the rims. When he saw Legolas he greeted him with a smile, but soon this disappeared when he detected his friend's obvious distress. For one thing, the elf never had a hair out of place but here he was looking like he had hastily rolled out of bed and hadn't looked in the mirror yet. Legolas was also notoriously tireless and calm, but his eyes told a different story. In them Eomer could sense exhaustion and panic.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me. I must leave now." The elf explained abruptly.

"You've only just arrived. What is wrong? Look who's here for a visit." Eomer pointed at a table as the elf followed the direction. Seated comfortably pipe in hand and axe leaning against a wooden beam was none other than Gimli. The dwarf looked up from his pipe and locked eyes with Legolas,

"So you couldn't stay away, could you lad?" He teased as he stood up and made his way towards the elf.

"Apparently not," Legolas answered curtly; although he was pleased to see his friend, the Prince was in no mood for prattling chatter and joking. Noticing the apparent tribulation in the elf, Gimli swallowed his usual following antic about his pointy ears and simply stared at his friend.

"Who died?" Gimli asked harmlessly trying to lighten his friend's mood.

"No one," Legolas muttered, he turned to Eomer, "is there somewhere the three of us could speak privately?" Simply nodding, Eomer motioned for the two of them to follow as they departed the boisterous throne room. They climbed up a narrow staircase to the higher levels of the fort until they came across Theoden's old study. Eomer ushered them inside as he quietly shut the door behind them. Taking in the room, Legolas made the note that it was not much different from Thranduil's. Books, scrolls and maps were strewn everywhere. The only difference was that everything from the mantle to book ends to the chairs were all horse related in one sense or the other. This was after all the capital of Rohirrim riders.

"So what clouds your mind?" Gimli broke the silence, "I've never seen a more humorless elf and that's saying something, laddy." Legolas inhaled as he turned toward his friends and said in a shattered whisper,

"It's my son." This single sentence hung like fog in the room as both Eomer and Gimli were stupefied. Never had Legolas revealed anything about his family to either of them; Gimli raised his eyebrows,

"You have yourself a little un'? I didn't know you had it in you." Legolas although in a pensive and distressed mood couldn't help but offer a weak smile at this quip as he nodded.

After explaining his bleak vision that evaporated strength from Legolas by experiencing it again, both Eomer and Gimli were left bewildered. Neither of them could ever fully understand the quirkiness and powers of the elves.

"What concerns me," Eomer said as he stroked his peach fuzz of a beard thoughtfully, "besides your son of course, is that in this vision there were elves fighting orcs in their mountains. Are we looking at the beginning of yet another war? On what grounds was-or rather will be-this attack?"

"I know not yet of all the details. All I know is that I leave right now for my realm and won't stop until I am there." Legolas answered. Gimli closed the space between him and his friend as he grasped his arm in the warrior fashion,

"I'm coming too. You might hurt yourself." Legolas nodded appreciatively yet had no words, it was often like that between such devoted friends. Sometimes one did not have to say anything to show the immense gratitude that was felt. Gimli and Legolas took a moment to realize that never in their lifetimes could they have imagined that they could be best friends. Everything from how they were raised to how starkly different they were in personality destined them to detest one another. But they together had seen 10,000 Uruk-Hai at Helm's Deep and had cheated death too many times to count by the skin of their teeth.

"I'm at your aid as well, as well as all my Rohirrim warriors. If it's orc mischief, we'd be more than pleased to desolate." Eomer claimed adamantly placing his hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"I can't thank you enough, but I know not yet the circumstances. Gimli and I will ride for my realm, and if your assistance is needed I will be honored to call upon you." The Prince explained.

"Rohan will answer gladly. Arod is in the stall closest to the entrance to the stable, you cannot miss him." Legolas bowed; he and Gimli quickly strode out of the fort and into the chilly night.

Torchlight was flickering outside around the fort and village but the snow-caped mountain range surrounding Rohan that kissed the inky night sky with dappled starlight counteracted the warmth. As Legolas swiftly descended the stairs down into the town he grasped both sides of his hood as he covered his head. Gimli with a far shorter stride due to his race had to practically keep at a jog to stay only a few feet behind him. Many of the townspeople that were on the same path as Legolas had to dodge to the side to make way for the elf. Although usually courteous, Legolas was not this night and would have without a second thought shoved past people to get to the stables as fast as possible. Arriving at the thick wooden doors into the stables, the elf heard a cheerful whinny that he recognized as Arod. He opened the doors and Eomer was true to his word as his pearly stallion was directly at his left tossing his head in glee to see Legolas. His newly cleaned and polished tack was hung pristinely on a rack and Arod was busily finishing the last bite or two of the freshly thrown hay. Unlocking the gate, Legolas stepped inside the stall and patted the strong animal's neck. The slightest touch made Arod gurgle a neigh in comfort; Legolas discovered that he was newly brushed and even had his hooves trimmed. The care given to Rohirrim horses was superior to the treatment of any animal in Middle Earth.

Gimli stood at a distance from the animal, for he despised riding in general. It had to do with the fact that dwarves weren't as in tuned with animals as elves were, so this already caused extreme distrust. Not only that, but being up so high displeased Gimli; the closer a dwarf to the ground the happier he is was a creed that the son of Gloin lived by unquestioningly. Legolas of course found this laughable, since he of course was happiest in the tallest tree touching the clouds,

"Not even going to say hello?" Legolas placed the bridle on Arod smoothly and buckled the throat latch as he placed the reins over the animal resting atop his shoulders.

"To a horse? I think not." Gimli stated indifferently as he readjusted his helmet securely should he be violently thrown off the beast. Legolas rolled his eyes at his friend's hesitancy with the harmless horse as he distributed the blanket across the animals' back followed by the saddle.

"So does this youngling of yours have a name? Siblings?" Gimli asked still a tad shocked that this large of information was never given to him until this night.

"Amitiel," Legolas said, the word sounded so foreign even to the elf. He had realized that this was the first time he had spoken his son's name aloud for thirteen months. "Also, no. He's my only child." The magnitude of that simple statement reverberated in Legolas; how could his and Celdanine's only child, his father's sole grandchild be in peril? At the hand of an orc no less? He wouldn't allow it to happen.

"A name of kings if ever I heard one." Gimli acknowledged. Legolas offered a barely visible smile thinking to himself, _one day._

"I can only assume that his mother is a beautiful elf maiden?" Gimli asked. As fast as lightening his smile abandoned his lips. He hurriedly fastened Arod's harness to the girth strap and led Arod out of his stall and out of the stable back into the crisp darkness with Gimli following closely behind.

"She _was_." Legolas whispered, "She was my everything; she was gentle, loving, intelligent, spirited, and absolutely gorgeous. Her hair beamed like a drop from the sun, her eyes were the deepest cobalt that I could loose myself in for hours, and the smile she granted was infectious. She was a high elf, and in all she did she illuminated grace. I pledged myself to her the very same night we met; so terrified was I that she had pledged herself to another. No one who draws breath in this world could make me feel ever again the way she made me feel." Legolas surprised himself for never was he to give so willingly much information about himself and the love of his life. For the second time this night, Gimli was speechless,

"Laddy, I'm so sorry. I didn't know and if I had-"

"There's nothing to apologize for, if anything it was nice to share that with you." The Prince affirmed as he offered Gimli a leg up onto the horse. The dwarf placed his foot into Legolas' cupped hands as he climbed up the seemingly enormous animal and hung on for dear life on the end of the saddle. As the dwarf situated himself into a comfortable position, Legolas steadily put his foot into the stirrup as he swung himself up on the animal with ease in front of Gimli. Grappling the reins, Legolas dug his knees into Arod's sides as the horse trotted into the village towards the giant gate leading out into the grasslands. As soldiers opened the gate, Gimli had one last question this night,

"What was her name?" Legolas pursed his lips, realizing that the next word to come out of his mouth would sound as equally unnatural as Amitiel as he too hadn't spoken her name aloud in thirteen months,

"Celdanine." The sound as it left his throat resonated like a wounded animal; it practically knocked the wind out of him. Gimli had never seen his friend this thin-skinned as the elf always held his composure no matter what. Unsure what to do, the dwarf put his gruff hand on the elf's lean shoulder and squeezed in an attempt to show compassion. When the gate was fully opened, Legolas didn't need to spur Arod at all. The stallion gave a hiccup of a convulsion as he began galloping out into the grassland; jolted and scared to death by the abruptness of the animal, Gimli grabbed onto the elf's Lothlorien cloak to keep from falling. Giving a slight tug at the rein, Legolas adjusted the animal to run Northeast...to Mirkwood. _Hang on, ion nin_, he thought desperately.

(BACK IN MIRKWOOD)

It was a little ways past midnight and the party was still in full swing. All was well, Thranduil was on his umpteenth goblet of wine holding a sufficient conversation with none other than the Lady of Light, Galadriel. Although immensely pristine, she wouldn't miss a party in Mirkwood, especially in celebrating the end of a ruthless and bloody war.

"How fares the Princeling?" Her age only conveyed through her voice as her eyes peered into Thranduil's searching for an answer. The Elvenking swished around the wine in his goblet and in a sigh whispered,

"Most days he fares well, like today with the prank on the twins but..." Thranduil observed his grandchild from a distance. He, Uriel, Elrohir, and Elladan were crowded around a fire eating and joking. Watched more closely, Amitiel although did offer laughter and grins-they were restrained. A year ago, the Princeling was the life of the party and offered a contagious grin like his mother once had. His eyes were once full of unbridled mirth; something that could almost always overrule any of the King's chastisement that Amitiel deserved for a wrongdoing or shenanigan pulled with Uriel. Galadriel surveyed the thin elfling,

"He's not the same...is he?" Thranduil swallowed a lump in his throat at the question,

"No. My one last hope for him is that Legolas returns."

"He will," Galadriel said; this statement wasn't just to comfort Thranduil, it was a known fact. The Lady of Light knew that Legolas was still alive, although his whereabouts she knew not.

"Is this true?" Thranduil asked giving a hard stare, "Will he come back?" Galadriel simply gave a single nod as the Elvenking exhaled deeply in relief. He felt an enormous weight rise off his shoulders, _Thank the Valar_, he thought. After so long with no contact from his one son, to have this confirmed gave him great elation.

"However," Galadriel said, "telling Amitiel this will not help him. He won't believe you." Thranduil could have already predicted this; although Amitiel had never shared his feelings about believing his father to be dead with the King, Thranduil knew,

"He won't, you're right. But what if you told him?"

"No," Galadriel renounced, "he's stubborn and wouldn't believe me either. Amitiel's healing will come sooner than you think, but not by yours or Legolas' will. Something tells me... something with far more weight shall give the Princeling the remedy he seeks." Thranduil although absorbing all that Galadriel was saying was reminded of how different high elves were to wood elves. Slightly annoyed he was with the riddles she spoke, despite the fact, nothing in his face revealed that secret. The Lady of Light turned and smiled at Thranduil,

"You will see that spark in his eyes again."

"Is that a promise?" The Elvenking requested.

"Do not alter his fate, and it will be." Galadriel explained as she tapped her goblet against Thranduil's and as she took a modest sip. Feeling uneasy and irked by more riddles, Thranduil simply dipped the goblet back and finished it only to go hound after a server for more.

Amitiel from the corner of his eye had seen his grandfather and Galadriel and could only wonder what it was they were talking about. Whatever it was, it was a cinch for the Princeling to see that Thranduil was irritated by the Lady of Light's habit of teasing with prophecies. Even though the King's face was seemingly perpetual and enduring, Amitiel could pick up on the slight nuances that told a different story. What stemmed the annoyance was that Thranduil and Galadriel were both born of the first age, and yet he always spoke forthright whereas she always alluded, which people always interpreted as wisdom without second thought. Although appreciative at times for information, more often than not the King was left vexed by her indecipherable labyrinth of a message.

Returning to the conversation, Amitiel realized he hadn't missed much because Uriel was still trying to convince him to undergo the "friendly," shooting competition with some elflings from Imladris.

"Come on! All you have to do is shoot one arrow! One! Would that kill you?" Amitiel at this point ignored the pleading as he bit unsympathetically into a honeycomb all the while watching Uriel fidget in discomfort.

"I was brash, I know! But I bet ten gold pieces...you're not going to make me look like a fool are you? You're not like that." Amitiel couldn't resist,

"I don't know, you do look rather foolish already. Being a little more of a fool won't hurt you." Elladan and Elrohir chuckled at this as Uriel pinned his ears back in aggravation,

"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! (By the sea and stars!) You're impossible." His friend exclaimed.

"Tell me something I don't know." The Princeling challenged, as he had heard this far too many times to count.

"Hey Uriel! We're ready for those ten gold pieces!" Out of no where four elflings holding their bows made their way towards Amitiel and Uriel. The Princeling felt Uriel's eyes burning a hole in him as he sighed and looked at him, knowing full well he couldn't let Uriel loose his money,

"Alright," Amitiel gave in as he stood up still pained by the boots, "I'll be back. Let me change and get my bow."

Uriel flung himself at his friend,

"Mani ume lle quena?! (What did you say?)" Uriel wanted to be sure he had heard the Princeling right.

"If you think I'm saying it again, you're crazier than I thought you were." Amitiel voiced through his friend's crushing hug; Uriel released him,

"See you down at the range!" Nodding, Amitiel said a farewell to Elladan and Elrohir as he sauntered away hiding his limp, blazing a path through the terrace through the crowds of elves. Servers were frantically filling wine goblets of already tipsy elves with flushed cheeks who at this point once so graceful were stumbling all over the place. Amitiel was glad he had sobered up enough to be able to shoot. He knew that if he had to do this stupid competition directly after his full bottle of wine, he wouldn't have been able to even release his arrow, much less hold the bow the right way. Scaling the steps up to the back entrance of the fortress, Amitiel felt someone's gaze upon him. It was nagging at him like a bad omen and was such a strong feeling he had to stop in midstep to turn and look at his spectator. Scanning the entire terrace of the thousands of elves, he found no one that paid him any attention. His grandfather was joking with the Lord Celeborn unsurprisingly holding a whole bottle of wine as he topped off both their glasses. Nothing was out of the ordinary, that is until the Lady of Light glided through the conflux of bodies as she strode perpendicular to the Princeling. With looking eyes, hers bore through him like arctic knives. She was a good hundred feet away from him, but that didn't stop her from conversing,

"A journey lies ahead of you," she voiced in his head. Caught off guard, Amitiel at first was startled that the Lady of Light was speaking inside his head for only him to hear.

"You must be careful and confident in your excursion, as your destiny is still veiled even to me, for only then will you find peace in your mother's absence." Amitiel clenched his jaw when she mentioned Celdanine. Unsure of what she meant, the Princeling watched Galadriel get enveloped by the crowd as she softly vanished. Her words although mysterious, Amitiel allowed them to fall off his back like water off a duck. After all, Thranduil had constantly instilled in his grandson that Galadriel's bemusing puzzles were gibberish at least half the time. Turning back to the stairs, he got to the opulent door and entered at a jog.

Arriving at the private quarters of the fortress, Amitiel took a single candlestick from one of the candelabra's out in the hall and brought it inside his room so he could see. The normal warmth and comfort of his room had been ransacked. He knew not why or how, but he felt incredibly apprehensive. Almost nervously laughing to himself, _since when have I been afraid of the dark? _He placed the candle in a holder as he sat down on his chaise relieved as he began unlacing his boots. The flicker of the candle bounced on the walls creating amorphous shadows everywhere. He looked around his bedroom reminded of his elfhood; toy figurines and books were placed neatly on the shelves. Not in a long time had Amitiel allowed himself to visit memories before his mother had passed. He recalled the many winter nights as a younger elfling, his father would allow him to pick a book off the shelf for Legolas to read to him as he fell asleep in his arms. Many springtime thunderstorms when the lightening would strike and thunder would erupt violently; he would leap out of his bed and sprint down the hall to his parent's room. Whenever he had a nightmare, his mother would hold him tightly and carry him back to her bedroom as he would make himself comfortable between Celdanine and Legolas. This was the same room that Uriel and Amitiel would review their lessons or pretend fight with wooden swords before they were allowed real ones. At times a prison, this room was where he was bedbound from breaking a leg or an arm from the multitude of times he had fallen from a tree or to his mother's disdain when he had fallen from the fortress walls. With an appendage bound in a cast, Thranduil would come into this room to ridicule his grandchild for his mistake, but more often than not it would render Amitiel a fit of laughter at his grandfather's false seriousness. The Elvenking would visit often throughout the day and bring with him each time something sweet for the youngling. One time when Amitiel had broken both legs, the child was stir-crazy like a horse that stayed in a stall for far too long. Thranduil couldn't take the complaints from the staff anymore, everyday he heard the same talk of the Princeling trying to stand and sneak out of his room to go outside always with his bow and arrows. Naturally, Thranduil set up a single target in this room for Amitiel to shoot so he wouldn't be driven insane.

As with the great memories, there were too some less than desired ones. The day that his mother had faded, Amitiel had woken up in Thranduil's arms in the throne room. Still with blood on his cheek from his cut and the orc blood that painted his tunic, he ran up the staircase in another fit of fury. As he came into this room he had ripped off his sword belt that held the dual blades, they were no longer that distinct cerulean color that glowed when in the proximity of orcs. Opening up a gigantic chest of miscellaneous items, he tossed them in angrily as he slammed the top close. They only aided in reminding him of his failure and the guilt that spread like poison in his veins, never had he opened the trunk since. Although gifts from his beloved father, Amitiel couldn't stand to look at them anymore.

Amitiel was jerked back to darkness of his room when without warning the glass doors that went out on his balcony were thrown open by a blustery wind that extinguished the candle. Furrowing his eyebrows, he watched as they creaked ominously. The only light in the entire room were the moonbeams that crept across the floor like spider legs. A chilling, volatile shiver ran up and down the Princeling's spine when he discovered that there was another light inside the room...of cerulean color. Standing up, he almost fell over he was shaking so badly and for once not because of the tight boots. Reluctantly he ventured over to his chest that was illuminating making him feel feverish and raw at the same time. Slowly he unlatched the lock and opened it, all the air in his lungs escaped at the sight he beheld. Still stained with orc blood a year ago, the dual swords were enviously shining that fatal blue. Hesitantly, while swallowing the lumps that were forming in his throat, Amitiel picked them up. The engraved Elven inscriptions on the blades burned in the Princeling's eyes. Heaving and feeling his heart beat in his ears, he secured the belt around his waist, having to fasten it tighter than the last time he had worn it of course and sheathed the blades. Strutting over to his bureau he buckled the quiver around his torso and grappled his bow as he went out onto his balcony. The curtain's were flowing like ghosts as he pushed them back. He gripped the railing making his knuckles white looking out onto Mirkwood, all was seemingly fine. He closed his eyes as he tried desperately to hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding like a battery ram against his ribcage. The waterfall was still crashing against the rocks below, the owls were hooting, the faint noises of the party were barely audible. Gasping noiselessly, he then heard the familiar noise of not so much walking but marching; twigs were snapping and vegetation was being trampled vehemently under the paws of wargs. The gurgling and growling, their communication, was brusque and raspy. They were less than a mile away, and there were a hundred of them at least. Fear was replaced with anger; Amitiel felt within himself a raging fury that was almost identical to that fateful day a year ago. He too soon realized that there would be no guards to fight...they were all drunk because they were in false security. Amitiel understood he was alone, for there was no time to even go and rally help. This only caused his heart even more palpitation to the point he could hear nothing else, including the unwelcomed visitor behind the him.

Before the Princeling could react...before the familiar smell of a rotting carcass could invade his nose, a jagged, surly knife was resting on his throat pressing hard. A disgusting hand was running it's fingers in Amitiel's hair, only to then gather all of it and pull it down causing him to face the ceiling, exposing his neck even more. The orc gave a satisfied growl,

"The pretty Princeling would be wise not to squeal."


	7. Chapter 7

Another installment! Thank you all so much for the support! I very much appreciate all the followers, favorites and reviews! Please take the time to leave one if you can! Enjoy!

I own nothing...it's all JRR Tolkein's because I could never be creative enough to build this entire whole world!

Grunting in amusement at catching the Princeling off guard, the orc only dug the knife deeper into his neck. Amitiel couldn't move forward, much less breathe and swallow, otherwise the knife would decapitate him. Backtracking with the expected nimbleness of an elf, Amitiel ran in reverse as he and the orc sprawled backwards inside his bedroom. Quickly turning in a spiral movement, Amitiel slammed his body into the orc's chest against a wall, crushing him. The force of being flung into the wall made the orc drop the knife clumsily as it clattered to the floor. Wrapping his hideous, scarred arms around Amitiel's neck in the position to choke; the Princeling ran to the other side of the room with the orc still hanging on as he slammed him even harder into the opposite wall. Mirrors, and pictures were crashing to the floor as glass was scattered everywhere. The orc coughed angrily at the impact slightly loosening his grip on Amitiel as the Princeling made his rapid escape. Moving to the middle of the room, he turned quickly to look upon his attacker. Thankful he was that this orc wasn't from Azog the Defiler or Bolg's lineage, because he was one of the shorter, weaker ones. Feeling something warm, and sticky dripping down his neck onto his tunic, the Princeling ran his hand down his collar. It was a superficial cut from the knife that had grazed his neck when they first collided into the wall. His hand was completely covered in blood that began to drip lazily to the ground in a deadly silence. Giving an irate, blazing stare Amitiel watched the orc lick his lips, almost mouthwatering at the Princeling's wound. Driven by anger that a young, highly underestimated Princeling had bested him, the orc charged at him at a dead run. Hunching down, Amitiel crouched as he swept his leg in a semi-circle motion causing the orc to loose his footing and trip as he collapsed on the hard stone floor face first. Amitiel vaulted to his stance as he straddled the orc's back; taking his longbow, he stuck the orc's head through the gap between the bow itself and the string. Putting tension on the bow, Amitiel pulled up on it as the orc was being strangled by the string. To be all the more menacing, the Princeling had his foot resting pressure on the orc's head to only push him more firmly onto the string. An expected smoldering noise came next followed by the orc's labored breathing,

"I have no time to quarrel with you because your _friends _are on their way. My bow is strung with a special elven fiber that burns all things corrupt and unsanctified; if you do not start explaining yourself, you will receive the most painful death imaginable." Amitiel snarled bitterly as smoke was emanating from the orc's neck accompanied by a nauseas burning smell, but only releasing a pained growl, the orc refused to speak. Putting more weight on the back of the orc's head with his foot, the Princeling watched the orc give a blood-curdling squawk from the unbearable incineration,

"Now who is squealing?" Amitiel imposed sarcastically, "You pathetic filth! Amin feuya ten' lle! (You disgust me!) Speak!" He demanded as he only tightened the string at the orc's neck, a stream of blood was spouting all on the floor. The scarlet liquid was boiling as it ran against the elven string. There was no pity in Amitiel's eyes, he watched with revelry at the suffering of the creature of darkness,

"You're a scout," Amitiel deciphered, "you are a runt...even to your own kind. Your orders were not to kill me, otherwise you would've stabbed me in the back and have been on your merry way. Speak!" The orc gave a maniacal laugh,

"What a smart Princeling. It all matters little now, your people will die this night. Every last one of them...slaughtered. _King _Thranduil will be roasted on a fire for us to feast and drink from his bones." Amitiel flared his nostrils as wrath practically blinded him, he took his longbow with both hands readily,

"Not while I'm still here." In one single swoop, Amitiel stomped on the orc's head with his foot as he yanked upwards; his bowstring burned all the way through, decapitated the orc completely. Still heaving wearily, Amitiel watched the head roll unceremoniously away from it's body. Smothering the room, the smell of blood was suffocating as it discharged violently all over the floor.

The Princeling's ears pricked up to the sounds of more orcs, he then remembered about the hastily approaching pack on wargs no less. Only had this battle just begun. He pulled the white, sheer curtain back, his hand leaving a bloody print on the fabric as he hurriedly went out on his balcony. He heard and smelled them but still could not see them. Still offering foreboding light, the full moon was like a premonition of doom. Cursing under his breath, he knew he'd have to fight in Yrren's entitled "butterfly," costume with the tight boots no less. Amitiel didn't even know if he could affectively draw his bow in this outfit, but he had no alternative because there was no time to change much less at least get a chest guard for minimal protection. He couldn't and wouldn't allow his people to die...not this night nor any night as long as there was breath in his lungs and his spirit not yet broken.

Inhaling deeply, Amitiel jumped from his balcony railing as he grasped one of many vines that grew on the front of the fortress. Shimmying his way down, Amitiel carefully watched his footing as he lowered himself to the ground. As his feet made contact with the stone, he faced the grand gate that lead directly inside the stronghold. The vulnerability of his people at this moment was immeasurable to any other close comparison before. Never could any free races of middle earth expect an orc attack this night, not with their husbands, fathers, and sons having only just returned. Amitiel vowed that nothing would come through this gate, that his body would be the last barrier. Turning, Amitiel faced the narrow bridge above the grand river that ran it's course underneath. The Princeling found comfort in this river with it's great cascade so close, for this was after all the greatest defense of the fortress. With a single incantation in Sindarin, the river would respond and help any wood elf, especially a descendant of Oropher. Striding out into the middle of the narrow bridge that could only offer a path to one or two bodies at a time, Amitiel stood with a firm stance, bow at the ready and a quiver overflowing with arrows. The swords were still shimmering that blue at the Princeling's hips; he wasn't even sure if they were sharp anymore or if a year without care and being stuffed in a chest had blunted them. _I'll find out soon enough..._

Praying in his head to last until dawn, when the orcs would have no choice but to hide from the sun, he prayed to the Valar for his mother and father to protect him, to guide his feet and keep his eyes keen. It were their gifts to him, the bow, quiver, and swords that would be the only boundary between himself and orc weapons. Although still fiery from the encounter with the decapitated monster bleeding in his bedroom, Amitiel allowed the feelings of fear to return. He wondered if his father was scared the day he left the Greenwood, because if he was, Legolas hid it well. Amitiel watched numbly, as the distant rumble of orcs and wargs wasn't so distant anymore. The first few were just barely visible coming up from the causeway looking down upon the Princeling. Some of them were on the path, while others were not and were appearing from out of the trees and shrub. Baring teeth, the wargs groaned almost hungrily at seeing Amitiel as their paws thundered the ground they treaded. Orcs were mounted on the formidable beasts, who were clad in their usual grotesque armor that had decades of blood from enemies spilled upon them. _Possibly my mother's blood...my father's blood...soon my own..._

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

"Laddy are you sure we are going the right way? I swear we just passed that tree in the distance." It was pitch dark and Legolas and Gimli were still progressing on Arod. The stallion's pallid coloring was only more so illuminated by the full moon, appearing as the bluntest contrast to his tack. Although usually entranced by the celestial, pale-blue orb in the sky, Legolas saw none of it's beauty this night and only found it to be a harbinger. It only added to the certainty that something incredibly malicious was about to occur.

"No, it's different. You're thinking of the aspen we passed an hour ago. That is a cypress, can't you see the difference?" Legolas asked incredulously, "The leave shape is entirely different, the bark is a different texture, the-"

"Trees are trees, they all have bark and leaves and that's the end of it." Gimli interjected, "They are cut down for firewood and that's all." Dwarves who rarely left their mountain holds couldn't care less about nature the way elves did. Although not able to see his friend's face, he could feel Legolas' irritation,

"I won't even bother arguing with you, all I can say is that when we get to my realm unless you want a thousand arrows shot into your skull from hideouts in the trees, you wouldn't speak that way. My people if asked what was more important-love or nature- they would say nature, for without nature there is no love."

"I remember stories when I was a wee lad of my father in your realm." Gimli said reflecting on Gloin going into detail of the dungeons and a threatening Elvenking, "Is that cranky Thranduil still on your realm's throne?" Legolas smiled realizing that his friend still knew so little of his identity,

"Cranky?" It was funny to the Prince, for none of race of elf would dare say that Thranduil was "cranky" for his capability as a King and a warrior was unquestionable. Remembering when his grandfather Oropher was slain in the Great Battle of the Last Alliance, his father had come back to the Greenwood and would not allow his people to see him grieve. He remained strong, for a King was not to be seen wavering. It was the same when his wife died. Although outwardly callous at times, he knew his father wasn't. He only needed a daily dose of Amitiel's teasing for all to see that. A whole new side of Thranduil was born the day Amitiel was; he would forget protocol and take the cooing bundle with him everywhere. Even during court, sitting upon the high throne, with crown on head, and staff in hand, in the crook of his arm was the sleeping elfling. At times, Celdanine and Legolas would practically have to beg to hold their own infant.

"Yes, cranky." Gimli affirmed, "He threw my own father in your dungeons. Gloin was innocent as with Thorin's entire company" Legolas didn't know whether to sympathize or laugh,

"When was that? 60 years ago? I remember personally escorting many of those dwarves to their cells." Gimli gasped in surprise,

"You? Why?" Arod threw his head and snorted at the dwarf's outburst as Legolas patted his neck to soothe the animal,

"I was a Captain of the Guard for my father." Swallowing, Gimli realized what Legolas was saying and for the third time this night the dwarf was dumbfounded. For the longest while, Gimli couldn't even muster words, until his voice cracked,

"Your father is Thranduil? Are there any other secrets I should know about?"

"I never held any secrets," Legolas contended, "you never asked."

"You do know that I, a dwarf, am coming to your woodland realm...I'm likely to run into the Elvenking am I not?" Gimli questioned thoroughly now frightened of going anywhere near that forest.

"I'd imagine you'll be having a few dinners with him, yes." Legolas answered, hearing his friend's voice tighten in nerves,

"He DESPISES dwarves, or have you forgotten after thirteen months?" Gimli demanded.

"Calm down, the dwarves he has known in his lifetime have been less than desirable and even you cannot deny that. The folktale and flotsam that you dwarves tell of him are far from the truth. He raised me and I didn't turn out a beast, did I? Once he meets you, perhaps we can all reconcile." Legolas tried hopefully, but Gimli was still incredibly dubious,

"Just think, you and I, we could end the animosity between our people for good." Legolas continued.

"By using me as a martyr," Gimli muffled under his breath.

Before the dwarf could ready himself, Legolas yanked hard at Arod's reins as the stallion skidded to a full halt causing Gimli to ram his head into the elf's back.

"You could've given some sort of warning!"

"Shhhhh!" Legolas hissed as he dismounted, Gimli offering a vexed expression. Walking with his feet seemingly melting into the ground, the elf crouched down. The vegetation had been trampled down perfectly in a paw shape, a familiar paw print to the Prince...it was none other than a warg. Giving a new glance, Legolas looked around...a path of paw prints. A pack had come from the Misty Mountains, they were headed Northeast...they would pass through Fangorn but wouldn't dare tread in Lothlorien. Arod sniffed at the indent in the earth only to release a nervous, suppressed bray.

"Why have we stopped?" Gimli asked, not able to read the earth as Legolas could. Getting down on his knuckles, the elf clambered following the indents, the paws swallowing his hands in comparison.

"Wargs." Jumping up, Legolas lifted himself back on Arod, "There's a pack in front of us and they are two days ahead. They're headed for Mirkwood and I'm sure of it."

"Another vision?" Gimli asked bracing himself as the elf kicked the stallion as Arod leapt forward in his gallop.

"No," Legolas disheartened, "this is pure instincts alone. With each step closer, I feel the danger growing. It shrouds my vision by shadowing Amitiel's fate." Legolas grinded his teeth, realizing that the orcs by now were certainly and without a doubt in Mirkwood. It would be an unexpected attack; his people were left exposed because they were in fraud insurance, including Amitiel. Gimli could only observe that the elf was crippled by the worry for his only son. He had never seen this side of his friend; for he had only seen Legolas as a fearsome warrior and a devoted companion. It was easy to see that Amitiel held a vital beam of light in Legolas' life; this light if snuffed out would render the elf a fractured mind and ruptured spirit.

"Well you are in luck, Laddy," Gimli stated trying to mollify the intensity of the situation, "for my axe still craves orc blood. Trust me, elf, if this Amitiel youngling is anything with the temper of Thranduil combined with your bow skills, those wee devils do not stand the slimmest chance." As much as Legolas wanted to believe this, the heaviness in his heart negated any other feeling.

"I hope you are right, mellon. I hope you are."

(BACK TO AMITIEL)

Standing above the hill, the orcs and wargs growled ferociously at the Princeling on the bridge. Taking a deep breath, Amitiel remembered something his father had told him once, _orc armor is weak at the neck and beneath the arm. _Without any further intimidation, Amitiel notched two arrows in his longbow. Although it wasn't pleasant drawing the bow in the decorative silver tunic that was stained with the blood still running from his neck, the Princeling was in no position to complain because he could still draw the longbow all the way and that's what mattered most. Releasing the first one, it felled one of the first enormous wargs coming down the gradient. With the second following in short succession, it bore through the orc's neck under the defeated warg as both tumbled down and accepted death's grip.

"I thought that elves always gave a warning shot," one of the larger orcs enquired caustically, slightly shocked that the youngling had his first kills so soon. Amitiel gazed at the orc upon the hillock unbelieving,

"My sincerest apology. Here you go." With such immense speed that the orc hadn't even seen the Princeling move his arm to retrieve an arrow from his quiver, the distinctive black and white fletching was visible below the orc's nose as the arrow tunneled through his neck. In a eerie harmony of growling, snarling, and pawing the ground, the entire pack began it's hasty descent down the hill. Launching volleys upon volleys, knocking up to five arrows at once, Amitiel shot as each one of his arrows pitched into their targets. Before they could even touch the entrance onto the bridge, all remaining wargs quickly faltered as they refused to go any closer to the river. Distressed, many reared up causing their wayfarers to fall boorishly to the ground. Even though they were demonic, flea-bitten varmints, wargs being animals could understand and feel the danger of the Elven enchanted river as the water lapped and babbled moving in a rapid and constant current. Although the orcs were oblivious to the powers of the first-age river; they savagely beat the animals as they cried in pain only backing up and ascending back upon the hill with tails hanging between their back legs.

"Leave them, we will deal with them later." An orc with enormous arms that were disproportioned to his body demanded as he dismounted while all the other orcs followed suit.

"Those wargs are far more intelligent than their riders," Amitiel spoke clearly and garishly, "for this river will not allow you to cross. Turn back while you can. Leave these lands and never return." All laughing madly except one, they all took out their crude swords and knives as they strutted towards Amitiel, coming in two separate lines in order to cross the bridge.

"Hand on, boys. I've heard of Elven powers on forces of nature, maybe we shouldn't," the one orc that hadn't laughed offered fairly. By his outburst, a far larger orc growled as he wrapped his whole hand around the smaller orc's neck and lifted him off the ground. Squeezing tightly, veins were protruding from the larger orc's arm as the smaller orc was turning blue and purple under the cold glow from the moon. There was audible popping and cracking as the orc snapped the other orc's neck in half. Tossing him as a ragdoll, the reasonable, dead orc flew upward towards the incline away from the fortress as the wargs began ripping him apart. Despite the cruel sight, Amitiel demonstrated no emotion; there was no limit to the brutality of orcs, even to their own kin.

Placing his bow upon his back taking into account of the proximity of the orcs as they began their first steps upon the bridge, Amitiel reluctantly removed the cursed dual blades from their sheaths. They emanated that blinding blue, the elvish inscriptions played as white shadows across the Princeling's face. Holding them, he swiped them as they sliced the air deliberately to get that once so familiar feeling back into his system. It felt awkward holding them again, although they were light enough swords, they were cumbersome compared to his bow. Amitiel didn't allow this inelegance to show as he prayed in his head that these swords, that had witnessed his greatest failure, were still sharp and wouldn't abandon him when he needed them more than ever. Waiting, Amitiel gently walked backwards, almost baiting the orcs closer to the fortress. When a little under half of the orcs were standing upon the narrow bridge, Amitiel breathed,

"You should have listened." In a purposeful voice, the Princeling allowed the Sindarin incantation fall alluringly from his lips and it rolled off his tongue effortlessly,

"_Oh great Grand River, would you allow intruders to come to the Greenwood, Kingdom of Oropher? Listen to my word, I implore your aid. Raze my enemies, and the enemies of the people of the Greenwood. I offer you my solemn oath and promise, as the Sindarin Princeling."_

Immediately and unreservedly, the once so blue river began to froth the most blanched white. It began to bubble violently as the cascade instead of falling vertically began to arc it's ascent. From the opalescent froth came forth the silhouettes of powerful, muscular elk. Telling from the steam clouding the night air, Amitiel could see that the once frigid water had succumbed to boiling.

Watching dumbfounded, the orcs gaped at the dozen or so guardians of the river as they pawed the air and threw their heads as they began charging at the foes. The elk bolted at the feebleminded orcs as they began to violently ram them with their gnarled, enormous antlers. Making the initial contact into the orcs caused them to unleash wild shrieking as the scalding water immersed them and burned them like oil. Amitiel couldn't help but purely observe the water elk as the orc's skins began to fall off in horrible chunks and slivers. Despite the assault, still many of the creatures of darkness began to still charge blindly at the fortress despite the blistering water that saturated and battered them. The Princeling took a final glance at his swords, it was the moment of truth whether or not these long pieces of metal would protect him or not.

Lunging confidently that the raging, boiling elk wouldn't dare touch him, moving in a spiral, the Princeling slashed his swords disarming one of the smaller orc of their sword as it flipped into the river. In a sequential movement, Amitiel charged forward and in one following swish of his swords, he sliced through the orc's neck as if running through melted butter. Smiling in relief he was that his swords wouldn't fail him; this was only further proven when the orc's head slide forward as it clamored upon the bridge far away from it's body. Not able to take the celebratory pause, Amitiel rolled to the side as a larger orc sliced through the air missing as his sword smacked upon the stone. Sitting up Amitiel shot forward as he stabbed the orc under his arm. His sword disappeared as it tunneled through to the orc's other armpit. It released a piercing cry as the Princeling tugged effortlessly; the blade slipped out smoothly in time to parry another orc's assault. The metal on metal rang in the night air like harsh wind chimes. Before Amitiel could step forward to relentlessly release blows upon the new aggressor, the rush of heat from the river guardian struck his face as the elk ran it's enormous body into the miserable orc. Shrieking the creature dispatched, his skin became a blotchy, red, blistered hide, that began falling apart like jagged melted puzzle pieces. In a flurry of metal, Amitiel resumed fighting off two orcs at once, each occupying one of his dual blades. The blue metal resembled frenzied windmills as Amitiel had to consistently keep both of them moving to parry the inflicted attacks. In one fatal coiled movement, both orcs were quickly decapitated. The once sandy white and delicately narrow bridge became a creek of blood as it ran through the gaps between the masonry, overflowing and surging into the river below. Mirroring everything in a scarlet resemblance, the blood began to reflect the surroundings flawlessly; everything from the stars' alignment to the detail of the Princeling's sword was inverted upon the bridge.

Due to the steam from the boiling elks rampaging from the river and the tiring exertion upon Amitiel, sweat began to bead on the surface of his forehead and commenced to flow into his eyes. The Princeling dabbed his forehead speedily with the sleeve of his bloodied tunic. Getting in his stance once more, Amitiel realized that the 40 or so burned orcs that were still alive began to rapidly retreat off the bridge and make their way back upon the hill towards their ready wargs away from the fortress. Panting through the blurry steam, Amitiel heard the pounding of feet, the jingle of armor, and a crude, guttural growl. Squinting through the steam, the Princeling observed an enormous orc obviously of Azog and Bolg's lineage assail the bridge, dodging the water elk with an unexpected dexterity for his pure size. He was the same orc that had choked to death the other orc right in front of Amitiel's eyes. His arm was the same width of the Princeling's heaving chest. With skin of a dark ash color and unbelievably large, fatal scars disfiguring his entire body, the creature charged at Amitiel. Bracing himself, the Princeling resumed his stance and deflected the pelting assaults one right after the other. This orc was far more forceful than the others, and with ease practically knocked the blades right from Amitiel's hands. Swinging madly, Amitiel tried to keep up, but his strength was waning under the uncompromising blows the orc threw with his barbaric, rusted sword. There was something hauntingly familiar about the weapon, it was as if Amitiel had been acquainted with it before in a faraway dream or trance. Taking a split moment, he looked upon the colossal orc's face and instantaneously Amitiel lost all feeling in his legs and felt feverishly weak and stunned beyond measure. For the orc adorned savage eyebrow piercings that were festering wounds and that scar...it went right through his eye causing it to be blind, slicing through his cheek. This had been the same orc that had tormented Amitiel's dreams for so long and kept him from sleep. Gazing into the hateful eyes, they were the same ones that burned through the elfling's retinas causing the traumatic memories to transpire for the umpteenth time. Almost fading that day...and it was all because of this damned orc; for it was his infernal sword that had taken his mother's life right before her youngling's eyes. Unconsciously letting his guard down, Amitiel felt helpless. Sensing this weakness, the orc in one powerful swipe disarmed the Princeling of one of his swords as it flung backwards clattering upon the bloodied bridge.

Attempting to come out of his dazed trance, Amitiel grasped his remaining sword with both hands. He grit his teeth, his legs felt as if they were about to fall out from under him. Furious with himself for being so weak in the moment he had to be the strongest, Amitiel looked upon the orc who was smiling in glee at the troubled Princeling as he dodged another watery elk body nimbly,

"Remember me do you, Princeling? I can see it...your mother showed the same weakness before I shoved my entire blade into her back. It's a pity, that was after all meant for you." The orc spoke in a husky, gravelly voice a couple of octaves deep. Amitiel swallowed hard at the words his attacker spoke, his throat felt scorched and his knees were shaking; immeasurable anger and sadness flooded equally into the Princeling.

"So it was intended," Amitiel choked as paltry tears stung his eyes; a sensation he hadn't felt in so long.

"How smart for such an incompetent elfling. Tell me of the lies your grandfather gave you for the reasoning-or rather lack of reasoning- for the attack, I'm dying to know," the orc requested brandishing his sword. Amitiel dared not speak, Thranduil had said it was senseless...but there was a motive behind it, for the orc just confirmed the answer to the Princeling's most draining deliberation for so many months whether it was or not.

"Don't worry, you will see your mother again very soon." The orc hissed evading another watery elk guardian; in a terrifying speed that rattled Amitiel in his bones, the orc grappled the front of his tunic lifting the Princeling off his feet and high in the air. The material began to rip as the orc tossed Amitiel's body into one of the columns that held the entrance of the fortress. Flying, his back slammed into the column as he bounced off and gravity pulled him into another slam upon the stone ground. Soar and hurting all around, Amitiel attempted to stand up to only fall back down on his chest. His ears pricked at the sound of the orc approaching which only prompted him to try getting up again as he feebly gripped his one sword. Getting up on his knees, gazing at the sauntering ashy, scarred orc, Amitiel realized he was in no condition to fight.

"What should I say to your grandfather about your death? That you pleaded for it? That you were scared beyond measure? That you called out brokenly for his help? What would make him fade the fastest?" The orc ran off the options as it made Amitiel feel physically and mentally splinter and fragment. Seeing a glimmer of hope, Amitiel watched graciously behind the orc as the sun began to rise, never was a dawning more glorious,

"Whatever you want to tell him, you won't be able to. For I give you my solemn oath and promise, I will come for you and I will end you." Amitiel spoke hoarsely. The orc not understanding the newly found cockiness in the Princeling's bearing turned to see what he was gazing at. The sun miraculously began breaking over the treetops as it shown on the front of the fortress brightly. Hissing at it's light, the orc began backing away from Amitiel and retreated back across the bridge towards his thinned remaining company trampling the carnage as he went, and being chased by the elk river guardians,

"I look forward to that day, Princeling." With this final goodbye, the orc mounted his equally monstrous warg as the pack followed suit and all together as quickly as they had came, they disappeared into the trees. Hearing them retreat further and further away, Amitiel heard a faint exchange from a scrawny orc to his mother's murderer; for he addressed the ashy orc as Shazog. Now there was a name to go along with that hideous face.

Amitiel, still heaving, allowed himself to fall down on the stone floor as he watched the frothy waters return to it's normal blue ebb and flow as the river guardians were enveloped leaving without a trace they were ever there. The cascade returned as it fell powerfully upon the rocks below as it had since the first age. Astonished at the unbelievable carnage, Amitiel stared at the savaged scene. Burned bodies lying in incinerated blood littered the entire bridge. Going upon the hill, orcs and wargs alike were lying dead with his arrows imbedded in their necks...all one shot kills. There were around sixty orcs and a dozen or so wargs that were scattered all along the entrance to the fortress, all from the Princeling's doing. Exhausted, Amitiel refused to fall asleep but instead closed his eyes and just felt the warmth of the sun on his back. He couldn't physically stand up yet, he still felt incredibly weak from the encounter with his mother's murderer. _I'll track them, they couldn't have gone too far with the sun up already.. _Amitiel knew he would go after them soon, perhaps this was the journey that Galadriel had foreseen. Rolling on his back, the Princeling looked right up at the sun. It was the deepest scarlet he had ever seen. Remembering the superstition of his father, he found that it was very true,

"A red sun rises, blood has indeed been spilt this night, Ada."


	8. Chapter 8

Hi there! I'm sorry this took a bit longer to post! It's just been a crazy past two weeks, but here's the installment! I'm still really enjoying writing this. Thank you all so much for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! It's very much appreciated!

Again Tolkein owns everything...I don't own a sock that doesn't have a hole in it!

(BACK TO LEGOLAS)

Crimson streamed the sky, the clouds appearing mortally wounded staining the horizon, beating down upon the elf and dwarf on Arod. Legolas hesitantly turned his head to look upon it, the bloody sphere adding even more weight to his heart and his apprehension only heightened.

"Lad, we are not going back through Fangorn are we?" Gimli inquired observing the hastily approaching forest. Fangorn's ground barely even had grass, was it so inhabited by twisting and impossibly thick roots of trees; this home of the ents would welcome with open arms an elf, but a dwarf with an axe? Gripping the handle of his father's weapon more adamantly, Gimli wasn't about to take chances.

"It is the fastest way. If we went around it, that would take another day and that's time we can't afford. Especially judging by that sun.," Legolas explained as he returned his gaze beyond Arod's ears as he too saw the increasing ancient forest.

"The sun," Gimli muttered scoffing at his friend's ridiculous perception, "how can a burning ball of fire reveal such distressing notions?"

"You forget," Legolas interjected, "the sun is too a star and my people adore them. They are the one thing that could remind elves of our pasts; they are enduring unlike all things mortal. Three thousand years I could walk Middle Earth, earthquakes would disrupt the land, new rivers could form, the crowns of kings would rest on new heads, but the sun and stars will still offer light and guidance." Sighing in defeat Gimli rolled his eyes; although at this point he was accustomed to the peculiarity of his friend, it was still amusing nonetheless.

"How do you decide what's a premonition and what's not?" Arod darted through entering the forest and jumped over a root, "See there! That root had green AND yellow moss on it! Does that mean that there's a dwarf lass for me in my near future?" Despite the solemn mood that inhabited the elf, even he couldn't help but offer a faint smile to play on his lips,

"Actually my bearded friend, that's exactly what that means. How'd you know?" Gimli chuckled in surprise,

"It would seem there are things in this world that even a pointed-eared elf couldn't understand. I should teach you."

"By all means." Legolas complied as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Riding deeper and deeper into the densely wooded forest, the light began to diminish slightly under the impenetrable canopy. There was deafening silence except for the jingle of Arod's bridle and the clopping of his hooves upon the roots. Occasionally there was the recognizable moan from an ent as they passed through, but neither Gimli nor Legolas dared speak not wanting to disturb anything. The stillness tore through Legolas and trapped him inside his wandering mind. Although near always a rational thinker, even he couldn't help himself as he played out the various dismal outcomes that could come from a substantial orc and warg pack. All that Eomer had brought up for discussion; was it possible that there would be another war soon to come? What did Amitiel have to do with it? He was still but an elfling...he had seen far too few winters still...

(BACK TO AMITIEL)

Once having regained some of his strength, the Princeling eased himself up on his knees. Looking down on his ripped and bloodied tunic, he began to unbutton as it fell in three separate shredded pieces upon the stone walkway. His breathing was still uneasy and his back still ached from the impact into the column; protectively, he reached upon his back and felt relieved when he realized his bow hadn't snapped from the collision. Pushing himself up, he almost collapsed as his feet cried out in pain. _Damn these boots_...gruffly Amitiel tore at the loathsome boots as they unraveled and released him as he kicked them off. Knowing how utterly ridiculous he must look at this moment being clad in only leggings, a sword belt with a missing blades, bow and arrow, and to top it off he was barefoot. He retrieved both his blades, that returned to their usual steel sheen no longer emitting lethal blue, and sheathed them as he observed the slain enemies lying burned and decapitated upon the bridge. Not able to smell anything except incinerated blood, Amitiel felt slightly light headed. Peering at the hill away from the fortress, a haunting wind whistled through as leaves rustled in response on the path into the forest. Much like how the sea eventually calls elves to Valinor when their time comes, this path were Shazog and his company had treaded beckoned Amitiel. Sensing this feeling in the air, in his gut, his instincts were screaming in his head and grappling his heart. He would indeed follow them until the end of time if necessary; Shazog would pay dearly as well his entire kin. Turning to look upon the grand entrance to his kingdom, Amitiel again understood that in this excursion he would be alone. He wouldn't dare tell his grandfather of his intentions, for Thranduil would never allow it. The Princeling wouldn't defy his King, as his word was Amitiel's creed. Amitiel would have to take care to not be seen by him, for his jurisdiction would bound the Princeling to the fortress in a blink of an eye. Feeling his heart sink knowing he would have to leave as soon as possible without telling anyone his whereabouts; guilt ran through his veins, for he knew abundantly his grandfather would be worried. Not giving a moment more of thought, Amitiel hurried soundlessly as he stealthily opened the enormous gate to the fortress and squeezed inside.

Of course not surprised due to the sheer amount of wine that was ingested the previous night, the floors of the vast caverns were littered and strung with unconscious elves. Some were propped up on chairs whilst others took to the floors of the winding pathways throughout with a pillow. Although it seemed improper, the unmitigated amount of elves caused all additional bedrooms to already be filled firstly by Lords and Ladies. It mattered little though to them, for many took also to sleeping outside under shade trees in the terrace and servants would offer pillows and blankets; for elves didn't come to the Greenwood to sleep, they came to drink, feast, dance, and be overall merrymakers. Carefully placing his footing, Amitiel made sure not to accidentally tread on anyone's face as he blazed his way to the staircase. Sighing in relief that he hadn't woken anyone, the Princeling jogged up the stairs and carried on to his bedroom. Allowing himself to smile, Amitiel's ears pricked up as he heard Thranduil snoring softly a couple of doors down, who had only just fallen asleep a few moments ago.Sneaking on tiptoe inside his room, Amitiel shut the door as his eyes swept around. It was not the same room that had reminded him of his elfhood only hours before...for one thing there was still a headless orc scout on his floor with black blood virtually everywhere. _You were not given orders to kill me, because Shazog wanted to cut off my head for himself... _Paintings of his family were left sprawled on the floor out of their frames, an entire mirror was destroyed as it lay in miniscule pieces.

In a quick manner, Amitiel threw on his expected green tunic and laced up his almost threadbare boots that were molded perfectly to his feet. Inhaling, the Princeling knew that he had only just escaped with his life from sheer, dumb luck; he clasped his neck only to prove that, although it had stopped bleeding the large gash had a prickly, raised texture. Had the knife gone any deeper, Amitiel would've bled to death. Without a doubt, his usual, bare chest guard worn for archery and sword practice wouldn't last during a full blown orc battle. Biting his lip, the Princeling perceived that he would require legitimate armor, and he knew exactly where to retrieve it but regretted the destination with every fiber of his being. Going to the armory would mean crossing the sea of unconscious elves once more, and although Amitiel wished full heartedly to go there instead of the dreaded place, he would have to avoid that with all veracity. Reluctantly, the Princeling strode out of his room quietly and went a few doors down the corridor before he stopped stagnant in his tracks as he simply stared at the ornate door. Except for a weekly dusting, no one had inhabited nor visited this room in a year; especially Amitiel, he had refused to even look upon it. He grinded his teeth and swallowed in nerves as he lifted the handle and the door swung open on it's own in an eerie creak. Darkness resided within as the Princeling stepped inside and made his way over to the windows and pulled the curtains back as sunlight bleached the room chasing the shadows away. Keeping his eyes cast down to the ground, Amitiel faced the room and took a deep breath as he raised his head and saw for the first time in a year his parent's bedroom. The furniture, bed frame, paintings were all very similar to that of the Princeling's room. A mass had formed in his throat that he couldn't swallow; his mother's vanity had looked the same. Her mirror mimicked Amitiel as he walked over to it, all of her perfumes, and dainty jewelry was untouched and organized just how she had left it. Even her opal wide-toothed comb that she ran through her immensely long hair every morning before she braided it was set upon it's counter next to her similar opal handheld mirror. It was indeed a special comb to his mother, for it like herself came from Lothlorien to the Greenwood for her marriage. Made of opal, it exuded it's swirling shades of pastel greens, purples, pinks, blues, and whites. It was the same material that his circlet has once been partly made of, that is before he destroyed it.

Catching in the corner of his vision, Amitiel saw in the mirror the whole reason why he had dared even come in this room. It was placed upon a free standing rack by the window, the whole set...everything from spaulders to vembraces to greaves. Turning to see, the Princeling took in the beautiful series of armor; it was without a doubt Mirkwood armor, as the metal in it resembled falling leaves. It was none other than his father's captain of the guard armor, many foes from spiders to orcs had been slain in this attire. Although it was forbidden and punishable for anyone but a captain of the Mirkwood guard to wear this armor, Amitiel knew that without it he wouldn't stand a chance against his own enemies. For the murderers that had threatened the Princeling had also threatened his people, his King, surely that's cause enough for impersonation. Placing all his weapons upon his parent's bed with all intentions of putting in on as fast as possible, he ran his hand over the leafed metal as it melted and formed to his hand; without acquainting himself any further, Amitiel began by taking the entirety of the breast plate off the rack and slipped into and buckling it to his torso. Although appearing unmanageable in weight, the armor was surprising light. Gently, he then took the leather and steel-infused vembraces as he tied them to his forearms tightly with the spaulders following in close succession.

As he tied the leather laces, he noticed unconsciously that he had copied the same knots his father always executed when dressing in the armor. Amitiel remembered many a time as an elfling watching in awe of his father binding the mail, leather, and plates to his body. Although not able to remember it, a common story told when Amitiel was barely a year old was that every time Legolas would put on the armor, the elfling would sob and sob because his Ada was leaving and there was always the possibility of him not coming back. No matter what Legolas could say to mollify the youngling, nothing ever helped and more often than not the Prince would have no choice but to walk out on the screaming child held in Celdanine's arms. Whether it was anywhere from twenty minutes to twenty hours, Amitiel wouldn't stop crying until Legolas returned and removed the armor. The fear of loosing his father had been so great that eventually the Prince would say goodbye to Amitiel in his regular clothes and then sneak out getting into the armor and leave.

Finishing with securing the greaves against his shins, the Princeling grabbed all his weapons off the bed and fastened them around himself. The mirror caught Amitiel again, and although told countless upon countless of times how much of a spitting image he was of Legolas, only in this moment for the first time had he seen it. He appeared exactly as a captain of the guard, a thrilling feeling but a terrifying crime to commit within the realm. Although the armor was a few sizes bigger, it fit him well and was easily adjustable as he could tighten all buckles and cinches to his desire. Even though the Princeling hadn't reached his full height yet, he knew he had grown in the past year. In only a couple of decades more, Amitiel would be considered adult in both height and maturity. His centennial begotten day would mark his eligibility to marry.

Unsure why, but Amitiel felt within his gut to look upon the rack that the armor had rested on only moments before. A strange force caused him to turn and a wave of shock hit his body when he saw his mother's dainty but dangerous long bladed dagger leaning upon the rack that had previously been concealed by the greaves. Sun beams bounced off it as it reflected ostentatiously in the Princeling's eyes. Closing the gap between himself and the blade, Amitiel gently picked it up. _Numen..._(West) This blade was the sole weapon his mother had ever wielded; it was a wedding gift from Legolas whom had entitled it Numen, so that his wife wouldn't forget the lands she had departed from to be with him in the Woodland Realms. The blade was forged in Lothlorien, for the Prince wanted it to be authentic for his adored wife. When the guards had returned to the fortress after flushing out the orcs that murdered Celdanine, this blade was the only thing to return.

Feeling that since he had already stolen his father's armor, why would taking his mother's dagger be any different? So fastening the sheath and it's buckle, it can down on the same angle his quiver ran on his back. About to leave the room, the Princeling took a final gander as he gently turned in a slow circle. A large portrait of Celdanine and Legolas holding Amitiel was above the mantle of the fireplace. Even though it was the inanimate oils of the paint, his mother's eyes still sparkled with life as she offered an infectious grin. Legolas too smiled as his eyes were seemingly lost in his wife's as he possessed the Princeling in a secure grasp. In a daze, Amitiel walked over as he looked directly upon the portrait. Swallowing, Amitiel whispered so that only phantoms could hear,

"I know that neither of you would approve of what I am about to do. I plea that you both forgive me. What I am about to do...I am scared beyond measure. The fears I carry with me are those of humans I dare say. What I am about to do...I do for myself, for deep inside I feel that I _need _this. Whether or not it is revenge, I know not. I'm not even sure if what I am doing is even a _choice..._it feels more like fate, like an unwritten destiny. What I am about to do...I also do for my people. If my life be lay to rest so that they may be safe, I will gladly lay. I care not that you agree with my tried logic, for I have been so _lost _without you both, and this journey may just be my salvation. I cannot take one more sleepless night or carry this burden within my heart any longer. More than anything...I hope you can understand that." Although it could seem silly to some that Amitiel had spoken to the portrait, there was no denying that he felt somewhat better confessing his fears and thoughts that had been trapped inside his head. He knew not whether his parent's had heard him, but it was his greatest hope that they had.

As quickly as he had raided the room, Amitiel snapped back to the situation and realized he was burning daylight and even possibly worse, Thranduil would be awake soon. Abandoning the room, he ran back to his bedroom and retrieved more arrows for his quiver and wrapped around himself his mottled, pine-green, hooded cloak to keep him warm during the early autumn nights. He had not a clue how long he would be gone for, but should he be gone until winter, this cloak would be plenty warm enough. At last pleased with his supplies, he pulled back his bloodied curtain as he went out on his balcony. Balancing himself on the railing, he jumped as he second-naturedly took hold of the vines and began easing himself further and further to the ground.

His feet touched the stone masonry at the front of the massacred fortress as he turned towards the soaked, abominable bridge and beyond it the endless forest...the very extension and element of all woodland elves. Inhaling, Amitiel released a high pitched whistle that sharply penetrated the crisp autumn air. Patiently the Princeling waited, for he would come shortly. Amitiel watched the waterfall, it's shimmery mist creating an arced rainbow when combined with the inflamed sun. Taking an even closer look, the Princeling furrowed his eyebrows noticing that the cascade was far weaker of a stream than it's usual battering assault on the boulders below. It hadn't rained in a while so not thinking much of it, Amitiel simply turned back observing the still and peace of the hard and soft woods, the chirping of birds, the scurrying of squirrels. The harmony of the Greenwood was heartbreakingly beautiful. The Princeling although having memories of his father telling him of the dark times with the spider's nest and the necromancer of Dol Guldur, Amitiel could never imagine that his wood was at one time tainted and poisoned. For these times were from whence the name Mirkwood arose in the first place, but the forest thoroughly rejuvenated after the War of the Five Armies. This ancient forest was sacred to him; it was all the more reason to protect and fight for it.

Suddenly, the tranquility that had lulled Amitiel was abruptly interrupted by the hammering of cloven hooves. By many it could be an alarming sound, but to him it was none of the sort as a friendly bray was released. For it was not the neigh of a horse, it was more of a grating noise that vibrated in the throat that echoed eerily throughout the timber. Shooting like an arrow, the great beast bounded down the hill at an unbelievably startling speed. It's hooves pounded the bridge as he charged at the Princeling to only stop short a foot away from Amitiel's face. It was none other than Valan, the Princeling's white-tailed red elk. The animal had a thick strong neck, of course it needed to be tenacious in order to support his gnarled, impressive, lethal rack of antlers. Twenty hands tall with hooves the size of dinner plates, Valen's size was formidable to say the least. His fur was shaded with different hues of claret, burgundy, and maroon; his short tail when flicked up was the palest white. Amitiel reached patting the elk's robust chest as it rippled in pleasure,

"Valan," he acknowledged as the elk pawed the ground in anticipation keeping his warm chestnut eyes rested on the Princeling. For elk were ferociously loyal to their one sole master; while horses had to remain in paddocks and stables, elk roamed the wood freely and responded only to their own master's whistle. Never domesticated in the sense of horses, elk were still very wild; they were the very embodiment of the attitude of the Greenwood: strong, enduring, intense, and spirited. They needed to run and leap freely without restraints like a saddle or bridle, only elves who truly understood the very nature of the great animal rode bareback. Tracing his hand across the animal's body as he moved to Valan's side, Amitiel grappled the elk's neck with one hand and his other on his shoulder. Understanding the motion, Valan lifted his front right leg curling it up as the Princeling used it as a rung to step upon as he lifted himself mounting the enormous animal. Patting his neck, the Princeling squeezed the animal's ribcage and tugged lightly at the animal's fur as Valan turned and faced the slaughtered bridge. With a little more encouragement Valan trotted across the bridge careful not to tread on the orc's bodies. Up ahead at the end of the crossing began the desolation of more orc and warg bodies with embedded arrows in their necks. But beside them were the tracks he would follow, they were still fresh although they were far enough away for the elven blades not to shine that cerulean hue.

"Amitiel?" A voice called distressingly from the entrance of the fortress. Amitiel looked behind in response to only see Uriel in shock of the butchered scene. He hurried across the bridge clumsily, for Amitiel knew he was slightly hung-over still. Uriel was at Amitiel's side as the Princeling peered down from his immense altitude,

"What in the name of––how'd you––" Uriel was at a loss of words as he stared at the all the corpses and blood and then gazed at his friend, specifically at his neck. Uriel's eyes widened even more "you're hurt." From the collar of his armor protruded the grazed gash, Amitiel raised his tunic covering it,

"It's fine."

"You need a healer, I'll go get Elrohir or Ellad–"

"No, I'm fine." Amitiel asserted offhandedly. Surprised at his friend's curtness, Uriel whispered,

"Did you––do all this?" Amitiel simply nodded as Uriel assessed his friend more intently,

"Your Adar's armor? Why? On Valan? Where are you going?" Amitiel didn't answer as he unconsciously gazed at the warg tracks that advanced away from the fortress. Following his gaze, Uriel gasped,

"There's more?! You're going after them, aren't you?" Again Amitiel didn't answer.

"You can't go after them on your own! Should I call the guards?" Uriel asked terrified at his friend's unusual silence.

"Absolutely not. They're drunk anyway." Amitiel scoffed.

"You were just going to leave not telling anyone where you were going? Not me?...You didn't even tell your grandfather...did you?" Uriel whispered.

"Of course not," Amitiel hissed as the guilt was beginning to trickle back into his body, "you know him. He'd bind me to the fortress so fast my head would spin."

"So let me get this straight," Uriel challenged as he was now thoroughly angry with Amitiel's selfishness, "your grandfather is going to just wake up and have no clue where you've gone? Do you know what that will do to him?"

"Enough," Amitiel almost pleaded.

"No, you need to listen!" Uriel protested, "You are going to leave on this frivolous quest without telling King Thranduil. He is going to become sick with worry when he realizes you are gone without a trace in addition to what has occurred here. You are the last heir of the Greenwood with your father possibly gone–"

"Dina. (Silence)" Amitiel growled.

"You are abandoning your people, Amitiel! You are choosing exile!"

"Now you are out of line," the Princeling threatened, "you know not to whom you speak, Uriel."

"I know EXACTLY to whom I speak." Uriel defied, immensely hurt by his friend's sudden idea of superiority. In his entire lifetime of knowing Amitiel, never had he played the royalty card.

"Obviously you do not. First of all, this wasn't a random swarm of orcs, MELLON. My mother's murderer came with all intent and purpose of killing me, my grandfather, and the ENTIRETY of my people." Uriel had a gaping mouth at his friend's word.

"Secondly," Amitiel bellowed, "I am not ABANDONING my people, nor have I CHOSEN exile. In fact, I have chosen NOTHING. I am protecting my people, it is my duty to do so." Valan tossed his head in agitation at his master's rage. The Princeling rubbed the elk's shoulders as he attempted to calm down,

"As for my grandfather," guilt swelled within Amitiel, "I know it's wrong, but I have no other option." With that, Amitiel squeezed Valan's sides as the elk trotted forward but Uriel wasn't finished as he stepped in front of the animal and stopped him in midstride.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, I wouldn't ask you to come on this 'frivolous' quest. You can just stay here and spread my 'chosen' exile to my people...tell everyone I 'abandoned' them." Amitiel words whipped through Uriel with an unexpected bite. Looking at his friend, Amitiel had done exactly what he had wanted, for Uriel was obviously saddened by his friend's attack,

"Amitiel–" Uriel began.

"That's an order." Without another exchange, Amitiel spurred Valan as the elk sidestepped Uriel and bounded away as the Princeling steered the elk to follow the paw prints. He didn't dare look back as he could feel Uriel's eyes piercing his back.


End file.
